


The Lost Mission - Black Smoke

by Miutinichisheno



Series: The Lost Files [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, M/M, Power Play, Psychological Horror, Suspense, dream omen nonsense, intense disassociation, mentions of Resident evil 4, poor life choices all round
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 95,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7768696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miutinichisheno/pseuds/Miutinichisheno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'It all comes down to the decisions you make. If I go along with this, then I'll live to tell this story another day, but I could also be branded a traitor to the world. If I refuse, there's worse things than death that this man could inflict upon me. What would I be left with? My Honour? Is that more important than potentially getting a second chance to fix things later? No matter what, I have to remind myself why I'm here. To stop Wesker getting his hands on the Mother Virus. I have to steel myself, even when I'm staring down the jaws of death.'</p><p>After the events of Pueblo, Leon finds that he's got a few mutations left from the plaga. Whisked from his support network he's subjected to tests to see his new capabilities, one of those tests is a mission into Austria to find an Ancient Corpse supposedly infected with the 'Mother Virus'. During his mission, he gets infected by a pathogenic virus engineered by Wesker to help him track the Mother Virus down. Caught between a rock and a hard place, loyalties and allegiances become strained; not to mention the side effects of the Black Smoke virus.</p><p>Set between Resident Evil 4 and 5, using details from the Resi 4 beta designs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZyrenSong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZyrenSong/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gone so long I stepped out of the woods  
> I was misunderstood but in light of it all  
> I sit back and check their disguise  
> Their dark shallow eyes got lost in the haze of the light
> 
> So I sit back and watch  
> I see all their masks soon appear  
> Long for the woods  
> From this place I'll disappear"

Leon watched the camp from a distance. He gritted his teeth. They certainly knew how to spread out, all sense of subtlety was lost, but when you had skin that was more solid than titanium why would you care? Wesker was impervious to bullets and hand to hand was definitely off the table. Perhaps what was also sad was the fact they'd carved out a huge section of the forest by the castle. Destruction that would inevitably cause more destruction later.  
“Saving humanity my ass...” Leon scoffed and pocketed his binoculars.

 

There was no use, he'd have to find a way into the castle _around_ the base camp. He couldn't judge exactly how long it would take to go around, probably another hour. It wasn't just sleeping quarters, ammunition, supplies, he could have sworn he'd even seen scientists walking around. Well at least he was on the right track. But he couldn't shake a nagging feeling that something was wrong. His instincts rarely led him wrong which was what made it all the worse. Simmons was a snake in the grass, he knew that the day he'd laid eyes on him. But the fact that this was a hush-hush job? Since when had his job been to collect samples anyway? Simmons said it was so their people could use it to make an anti-virus for the T-Virus and as such any future viruses they created, but it didn't.. Leon shook his head, he needed to focus on the now otherwise he'd no doubt get into a worse situation.

 

Perhaps it was the fact that he hadn't even had time to digest the events of Pueblo before they sent him out again was what was really bothering him. No to mention given that they'd barely had time to test for all the changes that the Plaga had made to him, it was one big under-calculated risk. Even he didn't know what he was capable of now, he didn't feel any different; all he'd noticed was his wounds healed faster. He was thankful for that much at least.  
Slowly he got to his feet, but remained in a crouch and headed through the woodlands. It was going to be a risk, but further back there was the remnants of a thin pathway carved into the side of the cliff-edge that lead to the bridge. _Sneak around the pathway, shimmy along the bridge and get in. Get in, get out. Simple. Avoid confrontation, you don't have the ammo to take down that many guys, let alone armoured ones._ He wished he had Ada's grapple gun. He felt like his life would be so much easier with one. _Grapple away from problems_...

 

Despite the late hour, the camp was still buzzing. Patrols were posted around the compass-points at the perimeter. Unsubtle Wesker may have been, but he was still cautious. So his ego hadn't gotten the best of him yet. He'd have to keep low, the path split unfortunately in view of one of the guardsmen. There was always the option of causing a distraction. Rocks were thankfully plentiful, only problem would be whether the guy would fall for it. He had to risk it. _Don't overthink, just do. That's how you survive_.  
Whilst positioned on the slope above the camp he grabbed a rock and aimed it towards one of the storage tents. Upon impact there was the distinctive sound of glass breaking. The guards all looked towards it, clearly debating whether to leave their positions and inspect it or stay put to avoid a reprimanding. He'd have to use the confusion rather than get away with a successful distraction. _Shit_.

 

Leon bolted. Rather than follow the path, he opted for the most direct route. He slid down the side of the slope and beelined straight for the cliff pathway. The guard noticed. Now he was faced with the option of letting him alert everyone else or to trick him further. Thankfully the man made his way to the path, Leon couldn't help but wonder if he'd thought he was a startled deer, but knew his luck wasn't that good.  
The agent kept himself plastered to the cliff, just out of sight. Closer. Come on dumbass, just a bit more. The guard didn't get much time to react before Leon grabbed him and put him into a choke-hold. If he could keep him there long enough then he could knock him out. But if he left him alive he could alert the others. But if he disappeared the repercussions would be potentially worse. There was no real choice given.  
Once the guard stopped struggling Leon let him drop. He'd have to bank on no one coming looking for him until they changed the guards. Now he really was on borrowed time.

 

The pathway left something to be desired, a nice handrail wouldn't have gone amiss, even if it had just been a cheap thing made of rope and rotted wood. It would have been something to separate him from the ungodly plummet and sharp rocks beneath. Heights were never the problem, sometimes it was just the prospect of falling. And he'd had enough of long falls with spikes at the bottom to last him a lifetime, thank you, Salazar. Perhaps it was the sound of the rocks that shifted under foot and crumbled into the water below that put him off. Although it could also serve to alert more of the guards if he wasn't lucky. Where in the hell was that backup they'd promised? He was flying blind. He didn't even have Hunnigan from the get-go this time. Shit, he hated missions like this. He wetted his lips and took a steadying breath. _This is the mission you've been dealt. They put you on it for a reason. Even if Simmons is slimy as all hell, the others did it because they believe in you._ He closed his eyes for a moment and carried on.

 

Avoiding rumination was the key, that was about the majority he'd managed to pick up in that session that'd been cut short. He needed to keep himself occupied, make lists if he had to, just something to ground himself. So he focused on the imposing castle ahead of him. It couldn't have been as ancient as he'd first assumed it was. It hadn't succumbed to decay and neglect quite yet. Moss had made its mark, the sea was eroding the sides of the cliff and created a cave underneath. If he didn't know he was in the entirely wrong part of Europe, he might have assumed that Salazar was waiting for him in there all over again. Hopefully there would be less traps. It'd been like a macabre Disneyland, but with fewer mascots and more monsters. Maybe if he hadn't been here on a mission he would have enjoyed taking his time with sight-seeing.

 

There was commotion coming from the camp above him, no doubt they'd realised they were one man down. He couldn't hear properly but he could hear the low growl of Wesker's voice, ordering the guards to step up their security no doubt. This was what he got for assuming. There was nothing for it now but to make a break for it and shut himself inside the castle. That'd hold for a little while at least.  
He grabbed the ledge above him and just about managed to get his footing in the rocks to push himself up. People were rushing around, grabbing their weapons, rushing the other man into what he presumed was the medical tent. Without thinking, he scrambled up and headed for the bridge. It didn't occur to him that they were ignoring him completely, but it gave him time to get across and through the doors. It was only by the time he'd reached the other side that he noticed a small handful of them had begun following him. Their rifles were raised, but none of them had opened fire yet. _This isn't a seek and destroy mission, this is a capture._ Leon's eyes widened as he realised exactly what that could mean for him. All he had was his pistol on him. There was no way he could hold them off with that, he couldn't spot any breaks in their body armour. The castle was huge. He'd find a way to lose them.

 

It didn't seem to matter how many corners he turned, he could always hear the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls behind him. They had to have been enhanced soldiers to be able to hear him. He wouldn't have put it past Wesker to have solved the mystery to creating a super-soldier virus. Just his damn luck. It felt claustrophobic at every turning. There were torches burning, fires lit enough to illuminate his way wherever he went. Without realising it he'd been following them. Corridors that hadn't been illuminated he'd ignored, too dark, too unwelcoming. It was ridiculous. He could have lost them at any point but he hadn't had his head screwed on right. They'd sent him out too soon. He hadn't been ready for fieldwork yet. If he'd had more time in debriefing-psych then they'd have been able to see that. _Now you're looking for excuses_.  
He shook his head. Ahead of him was a split in the path. One path followed the torches, but the other went down a corridor that was lined with windows on the left. They were open, the moth-eaten curtains were billowing with the moonlight, perhaps enough of a distraction. He darted down the corridor, getting about halfway down before he spotted a door that was slightly ajar. There was no light coming from within, so he slipped in and shut it behind him. To be on the safe side he looked around the room, for anything to barricade it.  
It appeared to be a library of sorts. In the middle of the room there was a large table that looked more suited for use in a banquet than a library. As good as that would be for blocking the way there was no way he could move it himself and especially without creating a hell of a noise. He opted to make a mental note of the room and to keep going, see if any other rooms were connected.

 

Outside in the camp, Wesker languidly picked up a radio. Kennedy was expected after all, even if he had the potential to be a thorn in his side, he had his own ways.  
“Is the target deep enough in the castle to release it?”  
“Target is heading towards the basement chamber.” The radio crackled back, the voice on the other end slightly distorted.  
“Good. Release it and surround him. It has been a pleasure working with you.” He said flatly and set the radio down. “Once they've released it we'll wait to send the recovery team in.”  
“You're absolutely sure that he will be suitable.” A woman asked him. An Italian. She had medium length brown hair that was tied up and a pink suit on under a lab coat. “We do have a limited supply.”  
“I am. Had he not proved Krauser imperfect then he would have been my first choice. I will not have a sub-par specimen amongst us.” There was a cruelty in his smirk as he examined a sample tube. In it was what appeared to be nothing more than a jet black smoke. “Let's see what's so special about you, Kennedy.”

 

The staircase he'd found felt like it wasn't going to end. He'd had a dream like this once when he was younger. He was descending a flight of stairs like this, in a tight circle, the further down he went the closer he knew he was to dying. He'd kept shouting out, crying for someone to help him, how he hadn't wanted to die. He'd woken up not long after that. He wasn't typically the superstitious type, but he'd also seen enough horror movies that he wasn't going to completely dismiss it as meaningless. It certainly wasn't an omen, but it was enough of a deja-vu to make his skin crawl. Although perhaps that was because of the way the darkness tried to envelope itself around him if it weren't for his torch. It was pitch black, no lights, no lit torches, the only trace there was that this would lead anywhere was the cold draft rising up the stairs. Thankfully, it wasn't a dead end. The relief that washed over him when he saw the door would have been embarrassing had anyone else been around. Although, the relief was short lived when he saw exactly what was on the other side. It was another spiralling staircase, but it seemed like it went on forever. Instead of a pillar supporting it from the middle there was a large gap. The stairs were attached to the walls. Instead of the stone being the same off-grey colour like outside, the stone was closer to yellow. Rather than the styled torches he'd seen above ground, there were simply large splints of wood burning that lit the way. The HCF couldn't have been long away from here for them to be so fresh. It was more like someone had shoved the wood into the wall, taking advantage of strength and the brittle stone. It was musty too. If he looked hard enough, he could see another door just a little above him.  
_Just because you've got an aversion to castle basements doesn't mean you shouldn't look. We need to locate the source and then leave._

 

He went to take a step when he noticed the torches further down the staircase going out. His skin crawled. The breeze he'd felt earlier seemed to pick up and if he squinted at the darkness he was convinced he could see something moving. Immediately Leon's yearning to go up rather than down was validated and he took off in a sprint. There was no way he was sticking around to see what it was, let alone entertain that sick little curiosity of his. Whatever it was must have picked up on his faster movements as the torches started extinguishing faster. A god awful noise echoed as he heard a gunshot further down and the sound of bones crunching and snapping. One of the squad that followed him in there must have been caught in the crossfire. Whatever it was was bad news if it was going for them too. He wished he could get a connection to radio in that the backup would be appreciated sooner than later. He burst the door open, it lead to what appeared to be a storage room. Behind him whatever this was reared up. There was no solid form. It was just a mass of black tendrils surrounded in smoke. Leon's hand shot up to cover his nose and mouth as he backed into the room more. Not like it would do much. He had to keep his distance. He heard a door open to the left of him and the other guardsmen from the group appeared and opened fire on the smoke creature.  
“Shoot it!” One of them shouted at Leon.

 

It didn't seem to matter what they unloaded into it, the creature didn't stop its advance. One by one Wesker's men fell, gurgling as they crumpled up on themselves. He should have used the opportunity to run, instead the smoke circled him and then engulfed him. He choked on the musty stench, its tendrils wrapped around his arms, holding him still as it forced itself down his throat. He tried to cry out but couldn't even find air to breathe. His eyes watered as the sides of his vision grew blurred, his skull feeling several sizes too small. _This is it._

 

He passed out.

 

–

 

“What you are going to need to remember, Leon is that you did everything that you could.”  
Leon had made himself comfortable, his boots kicked off and his legs pulled up on the sofa next to him. He'd spoken with this particular shrink several times after missions, she was the only one that seemed to click with him. She was pushing her forties, had a fairly no-nonsense attitude but appreciated Leon's use of humour to deflect. She'd been with him since Raccoon City. By this point, it was like talking to a distant old friend.  
“Yeah, I know.” He scratched the nape of his neck, a slight wrinkle in his nose. “But it wasn't enough.”  
“You can't save everyone, you know that.”  
“Doesn't take the edge off.”  
“Are you drinking?” Her brows rose as she looked at him over the rim of her glasses.  
“Haven't had a chance yet.” But it did sound good. That numb swimmy feeling which let his mind wander to more pleasant things.  
“I would advise against it until you've received the health check results.” She paused and adjusted her position. Leon groaned, that meant a new prodding topic was coming. “You said that you saw Jack Krauser again.”  
“I'd really rather not.” The relaxed position was lost. He shifted, almost mimicking her own and sat cross-legged, his arms folded. But he was leaning back. Trying to remove himself from the situation.  
“We don't have to. Not yet. But your report... you're descriptive in the majority, but there are certain parts where it doesn't sound like you.”  
“I wasn't aware I'd recorded my report, doc.”  
“You know you're not supposed to lie in reports.”  
“We fought, it got ugly, I killed him.” Leon shrugged, “I don't think there's a better way to describe it.”  
“What happened.”  
“I told you, I don't want to talk about it.”  
She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Leon, I need to assess whether you're fit for duty. I know you're upset, what you went through was traumatic and most people wouldn't still be here.”  
“Whether I'm fit for duty or not doesn't matter, they'll still send me out. I'm all they've got with this kind of experience.” Leon could feel his lip curling. “I don't get to not be fit for duty.”  
“I'm going to recommend you continue on your current prescription, with an extra dose of socialising. I know it's the last thing you'll want to do, but it'll help. Isolating yourself will only make you feel worse-”

 

With little warning the door to the office burst open and Leon's hand instinctively went to where his pistol would have been. He wasn't armed, funnily enough. There were two men in suits and one Derek Simmons in tow.  
“Sorry to interrupt, but we need to recall Agent Kennedy. Would you mind wrapping this up?” The man didn't even look at Leon, he was fixated on his shrink.  
“We still have another forty minutes left of his session.” She looked at her watch then back to Simmons, “You're not allowed to barge in like this.”  
“I know, ordinarily I wouldn't be so brash, but this is an emergency. We need to take Agent Kennedy in.”  
“For what?” The hairs on the back of Leon's neck rose. “What's wrong?”  
“It's classified and the good Doctor here doesn't have clearance.” Simmons looked at him finally, and Leon wished that he hadn't. He looked like a predator that just spotted lunch. The man paused, taking in Leon's expression and laughed dismissively, “You're not in any trouble.”  
Somehow he doubted that.

 

He was led deeper into the DSO facility than he'd actually seen before. He wanted to catch up with President Graham, make sure that Ashley was alright. If he kept finding things to do then he wouldn't feel so much like a flipped car whose wheels were still spinning. They stopped by what looked like an interrogation room and Leon's blood ran cold. Dr. Collins had said that it felt like he was leaving things off his report, was he going to be interrogated about it? Shit they were going to ask about Krauser weren't they? He couldn't bring himself to think about it, not yet. Not ever. He'd failed him, that's all there was to it. He hadn't been able to stop him from going off the deep end.  
Obediently Leon took a seat, his hands clasped together so hard his knuckles were white.  
“In your report you said that the late scientist Luis Sera had created a machine that destroyed the plagas in you.” Leon blinked and looked up at Simmons. _Oh_.  
“Yeah, it worked on laser radiation. It dissolved it before it had reached full maturity. We could have taken pills but we were too far along for that.”  
“Well, you weren't too far along enough for it to have left its mark.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“Agent Kennedy it looks like you're now what we could class as... Not infected, but the parasite has made changes in your biology that would be taken as mutations.”  
“...Mutations like what?” He felt his forehead prickle, he was sweating.  
“We don't know the full extent of them yet, but we will be running more tests.”  
“Don't I need to give my consent for that to happen-”  
“Agent Kennedy, are you saying that you're willing to put yourself and your colleagues at risk?”  
“No, that's not what I'm saying-”  
“There's nothing to be concerned about, these are all for your safety.”

 

–

 

Leon woke up feeling sore. He felt like he wanted to be sick, too hot, not enough fresh air. Everything felt like it was louder. He may as well have had a hangover, but the memory of that thing forcing itself down his throat was still a little too vivid. He wasn't in the castle, the floor wasn't the cold slabs of the storage room, it was fabric. A makeshift camping bed. He hated camping beds.  
Wearily he pushed himself up and looked around. It was pristine white, almost blindingly so. By the sound of the birdsong it had to have been just after dawn.  
“I was starting to wonder if you were going to wake up.”  
If he was a cat, he would have hissed, tail puffed out like a bottle brush and probably clung to the ceiling. Instead he jolted back and fumbled for his pistol.  
“What happened.” Leon shot back, unable to find his pistol he began scanning the tent.

It was just him and Wesker. Wesker had something that resembled a bed more than what Leon had been left with, like some pretentious glamper. There was a desk, papers neatly organised, a laptop and what looked like a fold out wardrobe. What also bothered him was the fact that he wasn't handcuffed to the camp bed. Nothing was binding him.  
“You and my squad were attacked.”  
“No shit.” He coughed, that acrid taste still stuck to the back of his throat. “What was it.”  
“A pathogenic virus of my own design.” Wesker said, and approached the agent.  
“ _You_ made that, thing? It killed your own men!”  
“They were unworthy. They knew the cost of the mission when they embarked upon it.”  
“What.. does it do?”  
“You're going to be my faithful bloodhound.” There was a smirk, short lived but laced with utter amusement. “You're going to lead me to the Mother Virus buried within those castle walls.”  
“I'm gonna do _shit_ for you.” Leon hissed, although he was increasingly aware that there was very little space between him, Wesker and the wall of the tent.  
“You don't have a choice.”  
“I always do. And I'm telling you I'm not going to do shit for you.”  
“You're making this far more difficult than it needs to be.”  
“So then shoot me.”

  
Wesker laughed, though it was hollow and humourless. “What is it, Kennedy? Death before dishonour? I think you'll find that death is far more pleasant than what we'll have in store for you should you maintain your derisive attitude.”  
“Bite me.”  
“You're hardly in a state to be making demands right now. You're barely in a fit state since Pueblo.”  
“I'm still kicking.”  
“Are you?” Wesker smirked and went to the desk. He picked up a file. “Agent Kennedy is showing signs of hyper-vigilance, hyper-arousal and whereas he once displayed hypersexuality as a symptom of his PTSD, Agent Kennedy now shows signs of agitation at the prospect-”  
“Where in the hell did you get that?” Leon scrambled to his feet, desperate to get the file away from Wesker. Wesker's left hand shot up and grabbed his shoulder firmly, keeping him at an arm's length with little effort. “Don't you dare-”  
“I have my ways Kennedy. I know a great deal about you since you so thoroughly decided to be a thorn in my side in Pueblo. You killed Krauser and you're precious enough to Miss Wong to be spared and have her betray me; although her disloyalty isn't something I would chalk up to you.” He cleared his throat and lifted the file just out of Leon's reach. “Anxiety and depression have spiked and whereas he was once making progress on these conditions, the last mission has stunted and even caused a relapse. Suspicions of due to the nature of the plaga there is a possibility that an increased level of submissiveness will be shown to one deemed superior – needs more testing.” Wesker paused and looked down at the younger man. “Whether you choose to help me or not, you're going back into the hands of those who intend to use you. You're a man who values his freedom, although I can't help but noticed you're 'fucked from all sides'.”  
Leon tried to wrestle with Wesker's vice-grip but it only made the man dig his fingers in tighter eliciting a growl from him.  
“I'm not-”  
“If you won't co-operate I will not guarantee your safety. I am not controlling you, but you are now mine.”  
“Until you don't need me.”  
“How you perform your duties will greatly affect your fate after this, Kennedy. Miss Wong has described you as 'practically a genius', for your sake I would hope you show that same intelligence.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "They all strive to deviate from the norm  
> But collectively swarm to be all the same  
> To alter image prosthetics are worn  
> Their primped plastic forms melt in the heat of the light
> 
> Then I step to the light  
> And see all their masks soon appear  
> I long for the woods  
> From this place I'll disappear"  
> The Woods - The White Buffalo  
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	2. Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon is shown the encampment and gets to learn a little more about his predicament. Things aren't quite as under control as he would have believed from the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All the people selling truths  
> On every corner now  
> The wait until the fear  
> Has knocked you down
> 
> All the rules are changing now  
> You're living in sin  
> Everything around you is caving in  
> All you're holding on to  
> Slipping like water through your hands"

The needles they used felt as though they were nearly 5mm across. There was something utterly barbaric about their practices, the scientists that were supposedly on his side didn't seem to care about the pain they caused him as they took sample after sample of his blood. It was almost laughable how desperate they were to find even the tiniest amount of Plaga tissue within his system. He'd been back for nearly a week now, he hoped that there was none left, just to spite them for their actions. Each day Simmons would interrogate the scientists, ask on their progress and get more wound up when they said they hadn't found any trace.  
He thanked Luis internally, imagining just how bad this would have been if the plaga had been too large to remove with the machine he made. He could only imagine how bad things could potentially be for Ashley... but she had her father on her side. Simmons wouldn't be so stupid to try this on her would he?

He wondered if he'd actually get to see anyone again. Supposedly he was free to go whenever he wanted, but each time he brought it up he was met with more 'this is for your own safety'. Leon didn't trust them for a second. He wasn't a person, he was a cash cow they'd stumbled across. He hadn't heard from Hunnigan. He'd actually started to wonder what they'd told everyone else, whether he was a threat, whether he was undergoing special training? All he knew was that he was starting to be unable to see an end to it. Spend the day strapped down and being poked by doctors, spend the night in agony and watching wounds slowly knit themselves back together.  
Soon came the experiments to test exactly what changes the plaga had done to him after analysing his blood and marrow samples. They told him that when they took the tissue samples it had healed within the hour. It wasn't nearly as fast as Sherry's healing, but that was on a smaller scale. Smaller wounds stung more for longer because they weren't as prevalent. Soon he started to panic when he saw the doctors. As much as they'd gone to something of an effort to make the room look appealing and like living quarters it was too sterile. It wasn't his apartment. He'd told the lady next door that he'd hired a cleaner to go in for the next few weeks whilst he was away. As much as her dog's barking would drive him nuts some days, he was missing the noise. This place was devoid of life.

The morning they were planning on partaking in the more extreme tests, they were interrupted. Leon was led down the corridor by Simmons back to that imposing looking interrogation room. Simmons told him about the mission he was going to be sent on and he _tried_ to appear apologetic, but it wasn't convincing – he doubted he cared enough. He told him how he'd be in a race against Umbrella and the HCF to find the traces of an alleged 'Mother Virus' and how desperately they needed to stop them from getting that sample.  
“A seek and destroy mission?” Leon almost perked up. It meant freedom, even if it was temporary. Time out of there.  
“No, gather a sample, then destroy it.” Simmons replied, as if that was a totally normal request.  
“Why?” Leon shook his head, “We're supposed to be destroying these things. That's what I was taken on for.”  
“But we can't help people who've been infected if we don't have he means to study these viruses as well, can we?” He felt like he was being patronised.  
“Then we can acquire files Umbrella have on these things. We shouldn't be playing with viruses, otherwise what makes us any better than-”  
“Do you doubt my intentions, Agent Kennedy? If you have doubts then perhaps this isn't the job for you. You can go back to your desk. Just think, with this we could help Sherry live a normal life.”  
It felt like he'd twisted a knife in his back. He knew he was up to something but he couldn't just say it was because they were gathering viruses. Everything he said seemed to be under scrutiny, if he made one wrong move then everything would come crashing down. His jaw tensed.  
“I'm just concerned. Viruses always seem attractive but it's never the people who tinker with them who feel the effects.”  
“How noble of you.” It was supposed to be a compliment, but it just felt like a slap. “This Mother Virus is supposedly what the T-Virus was based upon to make it work. With this we could create anti-viruses for anything they flung our way in a matter of hours rather than days. This would avoid a bigger death toll. Those who were infected could be cured rather than killed. Isn't that better than what we do now?”  
Honeyed words, he still didn't trust him, but he knew that everyone would believe Simmons. He'd need solid proof if he were to shake him up. But he didn't have any. He just had a bad feeling in his gut about the man.

 

–

 

Leon got led around the tents when day had finally broken. He may as well have had a collar and a chain on, the way Wesker was staying so close to him. But that's what he was, a glorified sniffer dog. No one seemed to dare make eye contact with Wesker as he strolled through the camp. Back straight, shoulders squared but not overtly. He was well and truly in control of this operation and Leon doubted anyone wanted to dare try and challenge that. But from the almost blank expression he wore, it was a mask of regalia. He almost challenged someone to dare try and defy him. Well, he wasn't going to be in the habit of making anything easy for him.  
When they entered the tent Leon found himself looking at the Italian woman he'd spotted beforehand. Her hair was down, despite being inside the medical tent; she couldn't really have been at all involved with the medicinal side of things.

“So this is your new toy, hmm?” She almost purred. If he thought Wesker was capable of looking predatory this woman radiated it permanently. She approached and grabbed Leon's chin harshly and inspected him. “The virus took?”  
“He wouldn't be alive otherwise.” Wesker replied flatly.  
“Mm, you don't know that.” Her eyebrow quirked and let go of him. She circled him, eyeing up almost every inch of him.  
“I am _here_ you know.” Leon growled rubbing where she'd grabbed him. Her grip was as cruel as she was.  
“And we're talking about you, dear, not to you.” Her smile didn't reach her eyes when she made eye contact with him. The woman was shorter than him by a good few inches, but the heels she wore kept her almost at eye level to him. “So far we have only seen death, it could have passive effects in this one, after all you mentioned he had a healing factor.”  
“Take a seat, Kennedy.” Wesker said, placing his hand just above the small of Leon's back and pushed him lightly towards the examination area. “Nothing invasive, we're going to take a blood sample and see if it took.”  
“It went down my god-damned throat, I think it's _in there_.” He growled, quickly moving away from Wesker. These people were unnervingly handsy. All a show for dominance. Wesker didn't need to establish himself like this woman felt the need to. Who the hell even was she?  
“Oh, that is interesting.” She bee lined for a flip chart and began tweaking notes. “It was designed to just be inhaled. It must have taken quite a shine to you to be so... _forward_.”  
“Please do try to not be so vulgar.” Wesker folded his arms, taking his stance at the edge of the section.  
She rolled her eyes before returning her attention to Leon. He really wished that she hadn't.

 

She made him sit on the cot whilst she gave him a general check up. Nothing ground-breaking, she listened to his heart, made him cough a few times, checked the responsiveness of his eyes to light. What unnerved him was he'd expected a sort of rattling when he coughed yet there was nothing. There was a definite weight on his chest but no apparent physical evidence. And even though he told them this, neither seemed to bat an eyelash.  
“You said it forced itself into you, it's possible that it strained your pectorals.” Wesker stated, “It's a similar sensation to drowning, you will feel sore.”  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence there.” Thankfully breathing wasn't a problem, although he hadn't really had the chance to test the extent. And from the way Wesker was lingering he doubted he'd get the opportunity in the near future.  
“I'll let you know the result of your blood test within the hour, until then.” The woman smiled once again and gave a disinterested shrug. “Whatever happens to you next is entirely up to Albert.”

 

Once again Leon was led away. He looked to the forest on the other side of the camp and wondered exactly how long it would take to get away, if he could and if not how far. He was Wesker's plaything. No doubt he was enjoying the idea more than a little too much. Every once and while whilst he was being shown around, Leon would feel something tickling at the back of his throat making him cough. It was completely ineffective at getting rid of the feeling though. Wesker didn't appear bothered in the slightest, but he'd courteously stop to give the agent a moment to gather himself afterwards. It felt like something was just resting at the back of his mouth atop his throat, just subtly scratching. Eventually, Wesker handed him a canteen of water and Leon chugged more than he'd like to admit. But it didn't shift, only made it less unbearable.

“It won't go away.” Wesker commented calmly. “Though it does appear to be an undesirable side effect.”  
“Yeah, no shit.” Leon said hoarsely.

Once again he was drawn into a coughing fit, arching over himself and coughing harder to the point he felt himself gag. His hand was pattered with droplets of water and black specks when he pulled it away from his mouth. Everything kept sinking in deeper and each time in more unsettling ways; he was infected and he was stuck here.  
Wesker remained passive when he approached his men and got updates about the situation within the castle, he'd have thought the man would be more secretive and yet brazenly he spoke openly about their progress.

 

“The north wall in the ground level library appears to be a recent modification by comparison to the rest of the brickwork.” The man looked so normal. Funny how that was Leon's first thought when faced with him. He wasn't wearing a lab coat, but he had a name tag hanging from his jumper showing his department. He was a surveyor of some sort. Leon wondered exactly how much he'd been offered to do this job, or if Wesker knew some particular filth on him to get him on board. Coercion sounded like his sort of thing. “It's astounding, the outer walls are centuries old, but it seems to have been built up on multiple times. Delta squad found a door in the basement that's bricked over, Beta found stairs that have only gone to the ceiling, Gamma even found a corridor that leads to a sheer drop.”  
Wesker hummed lowly. As fascinating as this place would be to excavate it wasn't entirely why they were there. At least the man had passion about compiling the information. Funny. Leon half expected these people to be soulless drones keeping their heads down. But the more he looked the more he realised that the camp was in actual fact _buzzing_ with activity. It wasn't all militia members, the surveyor he was faced with wasn't the only one, but he must have been a foreman.  
“Once this area has been purged of threats, the information about the castle will be yours to do with as necessary.” Wesker nodded. “We can't lose any more of you. You and your men weren't hired to be our red shirts.”  
The surveyor, Henderson, gave a small nod. He didn't look at Wesker with much in the way of fear, he was eager to share his findings with him. Maybe it wouldn't be so much of a stretch to imagine them discussing the castle in the evenings with a bottle of wine long into the early hours.

“You _want_ to be here?” Leon finally blurted out.  
“Your situation is the only exception, Kennedy.” Wesker growled, only allowing Leon a brief glance fuelled by a lack of patience. “I'm well aware of what you believe about Umbrella, but I assure you that the situation isn't as simplistic as you let yourself believe. Mr. Henderson and his team have worked with us for many years and are nothing if not loyal to me.”

The surveyor in question gave a small nod and excused himself after Wesker gave him the go ahead. Leon found his upper arm gripped tightly and once again dragged through the camp. He stuck out like a sore thumb, everyone else was content to carry on with their machinations.  
“Do they _know_ who they're working for?”  
“Yes.” Wesker replied simply, though his tone sounded strained at the edges to maintain his patience. “They are also aware of where they've come from. I don't know what drivel they spoon feed you in the DSO, but if you wish to keep believing it for your own sake, by all means take your comforts where you can get them.”  
“You've got more blood on your hands than I do.” Leon bit back. Which perhaps wasn't the best of ideas.

 

He'd known Wesker, from the descriptions of others to be cool and collected, terrifyingly in control. But there was something about him that seemed... frayed. He couldn't have expected Leon to have gone along with this without any protest, could he? Or maybe he'd expected the virus he'd infected him with to make him more docile. Sucked for him.  
“Tell me, do you take everything they tell you at face value? Do you not know of the skeletons your precious government keeps in their closet, especially Mr. Simmons?”  
“Simmons is not representative of everyone-”  
“No? But he funds a great deal of the DSO does he not? Would it not make sense that his plans affect those who are at the top – his inner circle?”  
Leon's lips thinned, trying not to grimace. He wasn't going to give Wesker the satisfaction of winning this round of psychological warfare. “So Arklay Mountains, the manor incident, that was just no big deal then?”  
“It was a test. Despite the fallout there have been a great many advancements. Raccoon city was caused by William Birkin attempting to flee Umbrella. What your precious Government won't have told you is that they had offered him sanctuary if he sold Spencer down the river. Spencer then sent out a group to kill him, Birkin in all his wisdom panicked and infected himself with the G-Virus. Rats then feasted on the bodies of the militia squad and took the plague into the city.”  
“And a test justifies the lives that were taken?”  
“To Spencer, perhaps. The outbreak only happened when the Queen Leech attached itself to Marcus' body in the mansion. If Spencer's arrogance hadn't gotten the better of him then Raccoon city would never have happened.” There was a hint of viciousness in his tone. Spencer ran Umbrella, Wesker made the HCF. Something wasn't connecting.  
“Trouble in genetic paradise, Wesker?” Perhaps he was being too brazen in response. Making too much of a point that he wouldn't be pushed around. Wesker hadn't made good on his threats yet and as such there wasn't anything for comparison.  
“I would be more concerned about the predicament with which you've found yourself in. After all, you're now here under my watch knowing that you have no support from your own. So who's really the 'good guy' since you need it in such plain terms? Hmm? Or does it worry you that perhaps you're not the benevolent saviour you once thought you were?”  
“I'm not like-”

“But you are associated with them and therefore by your logic as bad if not worse than them. You've allowed yourself to be easily manipulated. Why else are you here?” Leon tried to answer. Everything he'd been thinking about this mission immediately brought up and thrust upon him to try and answer in a split second. He couldn't do it. Thankfully the people in the camp had opted to avoid the fallout zone and were giving them their space. The last thing he needed was public humiliation to add to the list.

“Do not play this game with me if you can't keep up.” Wesker finally said, tone not quite so wrought with frustration. “I am aware of where I stand, it is no concern of mine if you are still unsure of your own footing. But I will not be lectured upon morality by a pawn.”  
Leon's hands clenched into fists. He wanted to swing for him. Grab him by the shoulders and scream at him. List off all the names of the people who died because of Umbrella, remind him that their blood was as much on his hands for going along with Umbrella. He wanted to find a radio and scream at Simmons. He wanted to be anywhere but here. He wanted this thing out of him. But he was defeated. For now.

 

It wasn't long before he was left with the Italian woman again. Wesker had excused himself to tend to the matter of men that were disappearing from the groups. Full teams were going in and returning one or two short each time. There had been no screams of terror, no blood, no bodies, just a confused team wondering where their comrade had gone. It'd made Leon's flesh crawl. The castle didn't look at all inviting from when he'd wandered in there and since he had the virus thrust upon him it only made it feel worse. He wasn't the superstitious type normally, but he couldn't deny the prickling he felt down the nape of his neck whenever he looked at it.  
“We will be monitoring you for a day or two before we send you in. There are some desired effects we cultivated in the virus that have yet to surface.” Despite the cruel tone she used earlier she appeared detached now Wesker wasn't around. “Asides the cough, you haven't felt any differently?”  
“And why should I tell you?” Leon's brows dipped.  
“Because this is an entirely experimental virus we are working with. We don't know what it could do.” Her brow quirked and that smirk came back. It made his skin crawl almost as bad as the castle. “For all we know it could be burrowing through your insides and ripping you apart inside to out. It hasn't liked anyone it's come into contact with. But you. For some reason _you_ are special. I don't know if it's something in your genetics that the plaga messed with, or if its just who you are, it chose you as its host. Either you work with it or it will overcome you.”  
“You said yourself, you don't know what it'll do, I could walk away and nothing would happen.”  
“Do you really want to take that risk?” She purred and seated herself. Compared to everyone else she appeared the most out of place. A pale pink suit and black heels? She wasn't dressed for practicality. “You know, the locals have always said that this forest and castle are haunted. It's why we can operate here with no interruptions. We don't even see rowdy children trying to show off how tough they are.”  
“And is it haunted?”  
“You tell me. We're losing members of our recon teams under mysterious circumstances.” She shrugged. It didn't seem to bother her in the slightest, she had to have been bluffing.  
“Stories have probably been passed down through the generations about the castle and reached point of local legend. These things only have power if you let them.”  
“Mmm, tough man too.” She chuckled and shifted. “There are stories as well that experiments were done here by the SS in World War II. They heard about the legend of the ancient corpse that was infected with this virus and wanted a sample.”  
“What's so special about it?”  
“Supposedly it hasn't decayed.” The woman smirked and took a sip of her coffee. “Supposedly the virus it was infected with kept it eternally young. You can understand why it's so desired.”  
“If it can keep you eternally young then how did it become a corpse?”  
“Tell me, did you ever see the film 'The Hunger'? It is the tale of a pure blood vampire who seeks company and finds a man to turn. For years everything is fine, but he keeps aging. She is unable to do anything about it. There's noises that come from her attic that are completely unexplained. In the attic are the forms of her ex lovers over the years. The bite she used to turn them didn't work like it did for her, it keeps them alive until they turn to dust. Can you imagine? Living through yourself rotting? What a torment.” She paused and glanced to him again. “Immortality is not all that people wish it to be. For all we know it is alive still.”  
“I think you and I have different tastes in films.” Leon grimaced.  
“My point stands, nonetheless, as gruesome and tasteless as you may find it. Now, back to my first point. Is there anything different that you feel?”  
“...” Leon's lips pursed, unwilling to meet her gaze. For all she dressed in soft and feminine colours she was definitely not soft. “The castle gives me a bad feeling. That's it. It's ridiculous, but-”  
“No, not ridiculous. Albert had the same reaction, you know.” She turned to the medical chart and began writing. “He didn't admit it at first, but he's far more tense than he wants to admit. I wouldn't say that he is afraid, nothing seems to shake the man, but, he has a healthy respect for the possibilities. In the way that someone who doesn't believe in life after death still won't touch a oujia board because, what if they were proven wrong? What if they did find something?”  
“Who are you. Because you're sure as shit not part of the HCF or the excavation team.”  
“My name is Excella Gionne. I work with the company that is now funding Albert's ventures.”  
“So you're funding Umbrella-”  
“Never in a million years.” She bit. The arrogance that had been in her viciousness before was gone. It was almost the same outrage that Wesker had expressed when he pushed that button a little too hard. “Tricell are funding Wesker dealings only.”  
“Why in the hell is everyone here so pissy against Umbrella? I thought you all worked for them?”  
“Perhaps if you behave you will be told, but you have made it clear you do not wish to co-operate. Why should we trust you? Now, back on track. It appears that the virus is working as expected. Those who are infected can sense those who are also infected, this is why Albert can now find you wherever you go and you will soon be aware of his presence more yourself. Perhaps it is about time..” Excella leant forwards and hummed lowly, leaning her elbow on her thigh.  
“Time for what?” Leon's eyes narrowed.  
“Time for your first walk, pet.”

The tent opened and Wesker strolled in. Excella's expression shifted subtly, something like admiration and something like when one is faced with a challenge to overcome. A trophy. Leon didn't want to ask, but it was something to file away for later. Wesker had an ear piece in already and a pistol at his thigh. Leon's gut wrenched. He didn't want to go back into the castle and now that Excella had mentioned it he was rapidly very aware of Wesker's presence.  
“I'm not your pet.” He snarled.  
Wesker smirked, it was a short little glimmer but he was amused by his indignant response. “We will be investigating the disappearances of my men and exploring deeper into the castle. You will be given a pistol and the rest of your equipment will be kept here. We haven't encountered any hostiles and thus will not treat the location to be holding a threat other than punishing those that enter for their carelessness.”  
“People are disappearing. You don't think that means that someone's in there?”  
“Has Miss Gionne been filling your head with stories?” His eyes were hidden by the shades he wore, but Leon couldn't help but notice the dim red glow that was directed to her.  
“It is interesting, no?” She didn't appear sorry in the slightest. “A place with a rich history.”  
“And most likely hidden doors which have locked themselves after opening.” He could hear the eyeroll. “We leave in five, follow me.”  
“You heard the man~” Excella smirked and turned back to the desk.

Leon wondered how they worked together, Wesker didn't appear completely impressed by her, but after being told she was financing him everything made a little more sense. He needed her around to be able to do the things he did. They also seemed to resent Umbrella. Just how in over his head was he?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Far off in the distance  
> Somewhere you can't see  
> Allegiances have formed your destiny  
> Opposition all around  
> Feeding off your soul  
> Trying hard to swallow up you whole  
> And the demons all around you waiting  
> For you to sell your soul"  
> Kari Kimmel - Black  
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	3. Side Effects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon and Wesker venture into the castle to find the missing team members. Along the way Leon begins to learn the severity of side effects of the Black Smoke virus. Things within the castle aren't entirely as they seem, nor is the state of play what Leon believed it to be from the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In my hands, I hold the ashes  
> In my veins, black pitch runs  
> In my chest, a fire catches  
> In my way, the setting sun  
> Dark clouds gather 'round me  
> Due northwest, the soul is bound  
> And I will go, on ahead free  
> There's a light yet to be found
> 
> The last pale light in the west  
> The last pale light in the west"

Castles at night were never a good thing. He'd come to learn this in his time in Pueblo. Castles at night meant cultists and their infected monster minions. It was an educated concern as far as he was concerned. Now, he was stuck entering one which was even weirder than Salazar's castle with an entirely unknown threat. He'd said to Excella that the prickling at the back of his neck wouldn't go away and he'd meant it. It felt worse the closer he got. It was an unexplainable sensation, a tickling at the back of his skull that he wouldn't be able to get to. It wasn't especially cold, and yet he still felt the hairs on his arm standing on end.

In all rights, he should have found the castle beautiful. Because aesthetically speaking it was. It was in surprisingly good condition for a place that had been abandoned for centuries. The gothic architecture combined with the gargoyles and other creatures lining the towers gave it an impressive regal feeling. It wasn't nearly as moth bitten and destroyed as he thought it should be, an odd element of timelessness about it which was unsettling in of itself. Something had to have maintained this place, right? Though he could hardly see Wesker's men coming in and relaying all the candles and rugs. It made little to no sense, but he had a feeling that this was just the way the castle as going to be.

 

“You're tense.” Wesker commented. There was no real tone in the way he spoke, just a simple observation like he'd point out that it'd started raining.  
“None of this feels right.” Leon replied, he didn't want to make it a habit to display weakness in front of Wesker, but expressing concern was hardly weakness. “Even if Excella is buying too much into the stories, don't you think this place is a little too pristine all things considered?”  
“Perhaps. But that is none of my concern. We are here to find my men so we may get the excavation started once more.”  
“So this is really just us showing them that there's nothing to be scared of in here?”  
“Something along those lines, yes.”  
“People are vanishing, you can't stand to look at this place and it's making my skin crawl, if you want this place to be further excavated you're barking up the wrong tree.”  
“Patience, Kennedy.”

The entrance hall was no different from when Leon had entered the first time. He didn't recall seeing it again, still out cold when they assumedly brought his body out with the virus in him. Somehow the air felt denser than when he'd gone in before. He wasn't sure if it was the virus making things difficult but Wesker didn't appear bothered in the slightest. That didn't stop him noticing behind the man's sunglasses the brief glances at him. The point of his virus was to track down the corpse, but he couldn't help but feel that his instincts to leave were stronger than the ability of the virus to actually lead him.

He grimaced at the corridor that split, one side leading to the long corridor with the silk like curtains, the other to.. well he didn't know where. As much as he could bolt at any point, he still felt a compulsion to stay by the man's side. He knew it was the virus. This virus was designed to make him submissive to Wesker's control, to be a pet. To be his good little sniffer dog. He wasn't going to. They slowly invaded your consciousness, he'd felt it in Pueblo. So many times he almost managed to convince himself that saving himself was more important than getting Ashley out of there. It'd sounded too good to be true. And it had been. The plaga under Saddler's control trying to test how he could influence him, what he could make him do. He shook his head, feeling bile rising up to the back of his throat. He didn't want to think about what had happened. It was just another page in the book of his memories, one he never had to go back to unless he wanted to. Screw working through it, he'd leave it behind.  
  


Wesker turned to the unexplored corridor, whereas Leon kept a hand near his pistol, Wesker was poised as though he were taking a moonlit stroll. Did he just not want to admit what was happening? He could almost go so far as call it denial through arrogance. If he acknowledged it then it meant that the situation was out of his hands. Of course Wesker couldn't stand the thought of that. No wonder Ada had wound him up so tightly. She was always a wild card, someone he couldn't control. Predictably erratic.  
“One of Echo team was lost around here.” Wesker broke the silence, looking around the corridor. It didn't appear to be anything more then a glorified gallery of paintings. Some were distinctively more Goya in their nature, even if they looked far more dated. Whoever owned this castle was a little too interested in the macabre – well it was perfect for Wesker and Excella.  
“Lost right by the front door? That's reassuring.” Leon snorted. He stopped before saying anything further as Wesker took his shades off. His eyes were narrowed as he looked down the hall and at the few doorways that were present. His cat like eyes were unnerving but Leon couldn't find it in himself to drag his gaze away.  
“We're looking for marks on the stone, any sign of patterned wear and tear.” He said abruptly. “If you're that interested in looking at something.”  
The agent made a small dismissive noise and opened a door. It lead to the library he'd taken refuge in beforehand. The barricade he'd made earlier had all been moved back to where he'd found it. That seemed a little obsessive for the team to have done after.  
“I'm aware of that hidden staircase. There is nothing of interest in there.” Wesker said, his tone a little less firm than it had been moments ago.  
“Did you...” He considered asking, but also realised exactly how it'd sound. “I'm pretty sure I'd barricaded that door, but it looks how I found it.”  
“My men would have moved it, yes, if that's what you mean.”  
“Right back to where it was?”  
Wesker's brow quirked before he returned his attention to opposite side of the corridor. There was a patch of wall he seemed utterly fascinated by. Leon closed the door to the library and kept the shudder to himself as he joined him at the other side. He opened the door that was next to it. To the right there was solid wall. The room itself appeared to be something of a storage room for general clutter. Some items of furniture had white cloths draped over them, others had been left to the passage of time. At the sight Wesker hummed lowly and gestured for Leon to check the door further along. Likewise, to the left, was a solid wall. The gap between the two walls wasn't a particularly impressive size, but it was enough to draw attention. The agent glanced back at Wesker then back to the room. This appeared to be something like a lounge. Mounted on the walls were deer heads, suits of armour and a fireplace. He had been fairly sure that it hadn't been lit when he first opened the door, but he rubbed his eyes and looked back. It was lit, he could even hear the crackling of the wood. Wesker didn't appear bothered as he strode into the room and looked at the wall.  
“It appears that the person who had this castle built was something of a peeping tom.” He remarked with an air of amusement. Before Leon could ask, Wesker raised his hand to a painting and pressed into the eyes. They popped back, revealing holes in the wall, just the right size for someone to look through. “There may not be any immediate access to this from here, but it's something.”  
“You're not bothered about the fire?” Leon blinked, gesturing to the fireplace.

Wesker looked to Leon, his brows dipped. He looked to the fireplace and approached. It was a handsome work. The marble had been carved delicately with women and flowers, the light behind it adding an extra hue to the thinner sections of the carving. Wesker crouched and reached in. Leon bolted forward to stop him. Upon making contact with Wesker, the room lost its warm hue, the only source of light coming from the moon at the window. Leon's brows dropped as he immediately let go of the other and swallowed. The fire was in fact, not lit. The Tyrant studied him for a moment then continued his examination of the back of the fireplace. It was solid, no trace of a button. Though what caught Wesker's eye was a bucket of ashes tucked just out of sight. Unless you were this close it would have been easily missed.  
“There you are.” He purred and slipped inside, discovering the hidden passage at the side. It went unsaid that he expected Leon to follow suit. But after that vivid hallucination, Leon found himself questioning whether he should be left alone in this place.  
“The fire was lit. I know what I saw.” He growled through gritted teeth.  
“I believe that you did see it lit. It doesn't mean that it was.”  
“What's that supposed to mean?”  
Wesker grabbed Leon's hand and guided him towards the passageway. The passage itself was pitch black, with no light sources. What concerned Leon the most was he could still make out Wesker's form. There was a redness about it. It was dull at first and grew more vibrant the longer the time between blinking. He felt his blood run cold once more.  
“It means, that I acknowledge that to you it appeared alight. And look where it got us.” His tone was firm, but there was a pleased element to it. “You lead us to this passage.”  
“...Somehow I'm not thrilled by this.”  
“I'm not expecting you to be.” Wesker carried on further down the passage.

 

It didn't seem to bother the Tyrant that Leon was unlike him, completely unable to see in the dark. He wanted to be able to see where he was going, but Wesker hadn't given him a torch attachment to his earpiece and as such was left following the dull red glow about his form. The longer he stared the more he felt it ingrained into him that Wesker was stronger than him, that if this was a pack mentality he was the alpha. He didn't want to think about it. The pile of things Leon was stubbornly ignoring was rapidly growing. He knew that soon it would topple and inevitably overwhelm him, but he couldn't afford to think about it. He didn't have time. And the last thing he wanted to do was to have a breakdown in front of Albert Wesker of all people. He didn't want to give him any more ammo than he already had.

So caught up in his own thoughts he hadn't noticed Wesker stop and bumped into the back of him. It was like he'd walked into a wall. He peered around the Tyrant and saw what'd made him stop. His face blanched. Around the twist of the corridor was the body of one of his men. He couldn't quite see a great deal, there was only a tiny window by the tight spiral staircase casting enough light to glint off the blood that'd soaked around it. He was missing his head. The head, however, was nowhere to be seen.  
Wesker looked up and his eyes narrowed. The shades were fished out of his pocket and put back. No doubt he didn't want Leon to see him falter. But he'd already been able to sense it. Especially in the way of the spatter marks going around the brickwork of the staircase.

 _He'd been discovered. It'd been swift. A moment of reflexive anger. All it'd taken was a push._  
  
Leon shook his head and looked back at the body of the missing soldier. The slice was done too crisply. It was too neat.  
“He was attacked above. Then the body was left to roll down the stairs.” Wesker uttered flatly.  
“So now you're willing to admit that something's wrong?” Leon growled lowly, barely above a whisper. “All it took was a corpse.”  
Wesker put up a hand to silence him, his mouth drawn into a firm line before he made his way up the stairs. Leon kept close again, making sure to keep one eye over his shoulder just in case something was waiting below. Wesker had checked it out before when they first entered, he knew that. But part of him wondered if Wesker was using his panic against him, keep him dependent on him. It wouldn't surprise him at this point in the slightest. He didn't want to stay here any longer than necessary.  
The passage above still smelt like snuffed candles which made Leon's skin prickle. Wesker carried on further, eyes narrowed and in search of what'd happened to his soldier's head. What made the predicament entirely worse was that it wasn't there any more. There was a distinctive arterial spray pattern along the wall, the signs of a struggle, a table that'd been knocked over, the candle that had been extinguished. Even pock marks in the wall from where his rifle had been fired. But nothing else.  
“One of them went rogue?” Leon muttered. He highly doubted it, but Wesker wasn't going to accept anything else as a possibility just yet. “Possible sleeper agents?”  
He didn't reply though, the only response was a hum that more stated that he'd heard Leon rather than he was onto something.

At the end of the passageway, there was finally a door. Well, what was left of one. Half hung onto the hinges, splintered and partially obliterated. The remnants had been shifted around, presumably by the struggle behind.  
  
_Exited the passageway, then was chased back into the passageway. The door was slammed shut, but whatever was following was stronger than the door._  
  
The door wasn't just a couple of planks of MDF like most doors were these days. It was thick lumber. To have broken through it so mercilessly showed strength that so far only Wesker held. The idea made Leon grimace, things felt too noisy. There was too much here to begin to process. Too many intrusive thoughts that he wasn't sure if they were his imagination, like the fireplace being lit or if they were something he should take seriously.

Wesker stepped into the hallway and looked around.  
“We found one of them.” He pressed his finger to the ear piece. “Echo's missing member is dead. His head missing, assuming it's been taken.”  
There was a drawn out noise of disgust on the other end of the line in a familiar accented lilt.  
“One out of three.”  
“We've discovered another section to excavate, we will continue our search for the other two, we will leave this area for now.”  
“Aren't we going to see what's up here?” Leon raised a brow. Not that he was complaining.  
“Later. Right now we have two other men to find or confirm as deceased.”  
“So you do care about them.”  
Wesker snorted and turned on his heel, heading back down the passageway. “If something is killing my men then I need to know about it. It's an interference.”  
Like it'd be that easy to get a reply out of him.

 

Even if the castle made him feel uneasy, the sections that Wesker lead him through were new to him. As such he was lucky that Wesker was allowing him to memorise the locations and layouts. The deeper the delved into the castle the older the stonework appeared, the more moth-eaten and tattered the furnishings appeared. What was also mildly concerning were the array of stains that appeared every once in a while. In a closet, he'd discovered a pile of bones, each of them the skulls missing just like the soldier they'd found in the passage. Some still appeared to have some semblance of flesh hanging from their bones, others had completely rotted down to nothing but the bones. It indicated a pattern. One that Leon wasn't liking the trend of.  
  


The second body was found, and like the first was missing their head. The difference this time was the number of slashes that littered the corpse as well. Blood had seeped through the uniform, making the edges of the fabric rough. The area was more cramped than some of the other sections that they'd come across. It was in an odd L shape, to the left was a door Wesker had explained that they needed to find a key to get through for now; the man in charge of the historic excavation had insisted that they kept damage to a minimum. Somehow it amused Leon that Wesker was willing to honour this, maybe he did have an appreciation for history. To the right was a section that had suits of armour lined up neatly three across each side and a stuffed deer head. Side tables were adorned with decorative china vases some bits and pieces glinted under the dull light cast from the fixtures that had been installed by the excavation team. A few old gold coins, Leon shrugged and put them in his pocket. Part of him was sure that the excavator would appreciate it for the collection.  
He could hear the smooth tones of Wesker speaking behind him, no doubt narrating the state of the body to Excella on the other end of the line. The room had an off-putting blue hue to it all. The light felt so artificial compared to the lights in the other end of the castle. Or what he assumed was the other end. He had no idea how deep into the castle he was by this point and he had to wonder if Wesker truly had any idea himself. Absently he leant against the wall, folding his arms and yawned deeply. He didn't know what time it was, he never brought a watch on missions for that exact reason. If he thought too much about how late it potentially was then he knew he'd never be able to carry on with the same sharpness he'd started with.  
  
He glanced behind him at the stuffed deer head, next to it was an odd looking vase in particular. It almost resembled the patterning of the fossilised plaga that was being mined in Pueblo. He picked it up and immediately felt dizzy. As he moved his head, he found he couldn't focus. He felt an element of detachment, there but not entirely. He was seeing with his own two eyes, but still felt as though he'd been made to take a back seat in the situation. His limbs felt like they were weighed down and unresponsive. Blearily he looked up. There was a flicker of movement he couldn't place. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but was met with the same dull hues and speckles in his sight. There was still something moving. He couldn't place it until he dragged his eyes up. The deer head was still where he'd seen it last. But the longer he stared at it, the more he found himself convinced that it'd moved. Then he saw it. It was a sharp, jerky movement. It was like it's jaw had suddenly detached leaving it slack jawed. He blinked, its mouth was closed. The sound of Wesker's voice grew more and more faint to the point where he couldn't tell where he was. He couldn't even sense him nearby. The thick scent of copper brought his focus back. He looked back up and found himself watching in abject horror as blood soaked the wall behind the stuffed deer head. It moved like it was crying out in pain, but there was nothing. All he could hear was a distinctive ringing in his ears. The more he tried to take in his surroundings the more he felt as though he was trapped in a nightmare, the sort where you were running from something but couldn't move faster than a snail's pace. The atmosphere was stifling. Whereas before all that had permeated the air was the scent of dust, mud and a light dampness, all he could smell was rot. It was thick and acrid.  
Finally finding his legs he staggered back. Then he heard a creak. It was a painful noise, the sound of metal scraping against metal, long and drawn out. Behind him one of the suits of armour had changed into a battle stance, the axe it wielded held high above his head. It was twitching. Shaking. He wasn't sure what to believe he was seeing. He looked back at the deer head, now off the mount and blood seeping into the ridges of the stone floor. The creaking grew worse and Leon jumped back. The axe shot into the ground right beside the deer head. He'd almost been close enough to get caught by it, still feeling the heavy metal breeze past him. Everything was still for a split second. The stuffed deer stopped moving. The suit of armour held its position. He inhaled as deeply as he could manage, almost gagging on the scent in the air.  
The suit of armour fell to pieces.

 

With the clatter, he finally began to find his senses again. He needed to be away from it. He staggered back further and managed to bump into something as solid as the wall again. He immediately recognised the warmth. He was met with Wesker looking down at him with a raised brow showing just behind his sunglasses. Leon's mouth felt dry. The deep-seated scratch at the back of his throat was back. He wanted to hurl.

“I can't leave you alone for five minutes without you destroying something, can I?”

Leon looked behind him. The axe wasn't buried in the floor, but the suit of armour had definitely fallen apart.  
“The- shit the mounted head was moving-” he tried to form words, but all he could think of was the churning in his gut. How everything within him was telling him to _leave_. “I-”  
“From what I saw you jumped at the deer head and stumbled back into the suit of armour. Scaring yourself again are we?”  
“Fuck you. I know what I saw.” Leon bared his teeth and pushed away from the man. The lighting no longer seemed so artificial and blue. The acrid taste was gone from the air, but it now felt as though it was buried deep within him. He still felt sluggish though, movement felt exaggerated to what he was actually doing. He'd eaten recently, they'd made sure of that at the camp, he wasn't dehydrated either, the almost empty canteen of water was a testament to that. Shit he could barely stand up.  
From an upper pocket on his jacket, Wesker produced a small hand held torch and grabbed Leon's face with his free hand. He shone it into his eyes. Leon expected himself to recoil away from the brightness. He registered that it was there, but it didn't blind him like he thought it would. He felt himself grow rigid, the realisation dawning upon him.  
Wesker's brows dipped. Leon's eyes weren't reacting to the light. His pupils didn't dilate, though they were somewhat narrower than usual. Seeing, but also unseeing.  
“What did you see?” He asked slowly, moving the light. Leon's eyes followed it but still didn't react.  
“It was blue. Like bad halogen lighting. The deer head moved, its mouth was moving like it was crying out. It started bleeding like its head had just been cut off.” Leon paused and coughed, feeling the acrid taste climbing up the back of his throat again. “The armour attacked-” He coughed again, this time covering his mouth with his hand. Even if he wasn't hallucinating now, his head still felt like a slow motion fish tank being shaken up. When he closed his eyes too long it felt like everything was spinning, a sensation he'd only known when he'd drunk too much. “I got out of the way in time, then it broke-” He dissolved into coughing again, barely managing to pull out of Wesker's grip to double over himself. His throat burned. Rather than just a few speckles of saliva and black sludge like the first time he'd dissolved into a coughing fit, the ratio of black sludge was higher than before. He felt like if he kept coughing he might be able to get rid of it, force it all out of his system. It didn't shift. No matter how much he gagged or wretched.  
Wesker watched, perhaps eering on the side of unimpressed that he was causing himself so much damage. But as Excella had said, the virus was technically an unknown. Leon was the only person that it'd worked on. Admittedly he knew Leon was coming, the virus was supposed to kill him like it had the squad that he'd deployed to fill the castle with it. It was something of a message to send to a certain woman in a red dress. In the end, he was going to use it as a means to mass clear an area as in previous tests it had killed even other BOWs. But here he was. Stuck with an unwilling agent to keep an eye on. What was so special about his genetics other than the potential mutations that the plaga caused? Or perhaps the plaga had simply made room for susceptibility to this virus. There was too much to consider and now wasn't the time. Of course, it would act out when he had something more pressing at hand.  
“Are you done?” Wesker asked, offering out his water canteen.

Leon gave one final cough and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, his eyes narrowed. “And if I'm not?”  
“Then all I'll ask is you are aware that your attempts to rid yourself of that are futile and you're holding us up with your display of petulance.” Leon took the canteen and took a hefty swig. “I appreciate that the changes that are taking place in you are frightening as they are beyond your control. If you were in any real danger I would inform you.”  
“So I'm supposed to just _get on with it_?”  
“Not at all. But when you feel something like that happen again in future you are to tell me. Your hallucinations are sometimes indeed useful, but your latest episode only served to scare you.”  
The agent huffed and pushed the canteen back into Wesker's hands. He didn't want to be near him right now. What annoyed him the most was his attitude, he was feigning concern. It would have been easier if he'd said he didn't believe him off the bat. But he did. He clenched his fist and made his way to lean against a wall.  
“What triggered it?” Wesker remained in place, observing the room.  
“I picked up a fucking vase. That weird thing by the trophy mount.” Leon waved at it, unwilling to grab it once again just in case it set him off again. Great, now he had to be careful about what he picked up as well.  
When Wesker picked it up, he shook it. There was a rattling noise within. Whatever it was it sounded heavy. He let it drop to the floor. Leon's eyes widened. Inside was a key. It looked suspiciously like it would fit the lock of the doors to the left side of the corridor. Wesker was clearly considering opening it, but for now, he put the key in his pocket.  
“We will come back tomorrow.” He paused and looked back to Leon, “Have you recovered?”  
“As much as I'm going to.” who muttered in response. He didn't want to admit that he was sulking, but he could hardly be blamed. “One last place to check, right?”

 

Thankfully their next port of call was in an area much less confined. It was another entrance hall of sort. Leon remembered something about one of the recon teams talking the excavators about it. It'd left them fascinated because it was apparent that at one stage it had been where a western entrance had been. Now? It'd been converted into an almost green house. It seemed far too modern for a castle as old as this. In here houseplants had been left and somehow thrived on their own. Many of them were completely overgrown and had broken out of their pots and destroyed the stone flooring in their wake to get to the soil. Above them the roof was patchy, perhaps through weathering but it allowed the elements access to the room. All the plants had needed. It explained the damp scent in this particular wing of the castle. As beautiful as some of the flowers were that'd bloomed in this section, the plant room wasn't what they were looking for.  
  
Reluctantly Leon let himself be led away and back into the hallway. Fortunately, this time, they didn't have to look far. But unfortunately, this one came with something of an omen. It had the same markers that the other sites had, blood stains on the wall but this time, there was a large chunk missing from the stonework. Several paintings had a large gash running through them, one had split completely and the lower half was across the hall. Assumedly once again that was from the skirmish. On the wall beside an opening was a bloody hand print. The opening was switch activated, Wesker could only assume as he caught sight of a painting that hung artfully on its side. Inside the new passageway was the final body. Several of their limbs were hanging on barely by a thread, and like the others the head was nowhere in sight.  
“Is _this_ enough to be considered concerning?” Leon grumbled. “We've got a head hunter who separates people from the group and then preys on them. Are you sure no one was here before you?”  
“Then we'll keep to stricter rules.” Wesker replied firmly. “No one is to stray under any circumstances, more check backs and the excavation team with have armed escorts.”  
“What good do you think that's going to do?” Leon gestured to the bloodied corpse. “He at least tried to fight more and look where it got him. I'm seeing it, you're seeing it, so I guess it's got to be pretty fucking serious and _real_. You can't control this one-”  
“Kennedy we're returning. You are not in charge of this mission, you are not even of the rank of a consultant. You are only here because of my decision to let you live. You have your uses but don't become more trouble than you're worth.”  
“Something isn't right here and whether you want to acknowledge that is up to you. But you have three very dead men from unknown causes-”  
“They died because they didn't stay with their team. It's as simple as that. This mission _will_ proceed.”  
“The fuck is even wrong with you?” Leon shook his head in disgust, walking away from the Tyrant. “People are dying and all you're concerned about is rumours of a virus in the basement.”  
“With what is in that basement I could stop a great deal more from dying.”

  
The words felt like high impact stun rounds. He felt winded. Any and all argument he'd been forming or come to the conclusion of felt irrelevant and utterly derailed. He didn't- No it couldn't-  
“-Wait what-”  
“The virus that is infecting that corpse is the mother virus. It is the virus that stabilises all the others, such as the T and G virus to make them what they are now. If I had a sample of the progenitor then vaccines would be made in hours rather than days or weeks like they are now.”  
“But you're selling viruses on the black market-”  
“And who do you think sends the BSAA tips that these viruses have been released? Why do you believe I gather these? I have cornered the market to fund myself, I then make sure that those I have sold it to are stopped. These viruses are gathered so that we may study them and rid the world of them. Men like Spencer will have their comeuppance believe you me.”  
“Bullshit.” He couldn't help but feel dizzy all over again. His head swam with questions, so many unanswered questions. Wesker couldn't be telling the truth, it all had to be some disgusting joke on his part. “Bullshit. If you gave half the shit you think you give you wouldn't even send them the virus. How many lives have been lost because of this? You told me to think about the blood on my hands but you take the fucking cake.”  
“Kennedy-”  
“No. I don't want to hear it. You can try and justify it to yourself however you want, so you can sleep at night.”

 

He didn't know what possessed him to break into a bolt. But he did anyway. Wesker couldn't possibly be trying to do the right thing. Not after everything that happened, not after everything he'd been through. He could accept that Spencer was the root of it and Wesker was just some well-oiled machine pointed at whatever he wanted gone. Perhaps it was selfishness on his part, an unwillingness to accept that he'd been wrong. But he couldn't have been. Someone who wanted to do good wouldn't allow so many people to die. Every villain thought they were the hero in their own minds, but if that was the case, what if he fell into that category? What if everything he'd been doing for the President had been wrong? Simmons should have been the tip-off from the start. He knew he was a snake the minute he met him that day. The day he strong-armed him into fighting BOWs. He was working for the bad guy this time. He'd been sent here under false pretences. He knew that from the start, after everything he'd been through.

He wasn't an idiot, he knew corruption was rife. He knew that the CIA was built on the back of drug money, he knew all their dirty secrets, but he knew it needed good people to step up and do what they could. If he took out BOWs and made area safer for it, then he'd do it. If he needed to stop whatever was causing the deaths here then he'd do it. Even if it was Wesker's militia, there were non-combat trained civvies here under the impression they were going to do some history. If Wesker wasn't going to accept that whatever did this was still here then he'd stop it by himself. It wasn't the first time he'd stared down death on his own and he'd long come to terms with the fact he could die at any second on any mission. If this was going to be his last one because of whatever the fuck Wesker infected him with, then so be it. At least he'd go out doing something of worth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And I ask for no redemption  
> In this cold and barren place  
> Still I see a faint reflection  
> And so by it, I got my way
> 
> The last pale light in the west  
> The last pale light in the west"  
> Ben Nichols - The Last Pale Light In The West  
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	4. Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon finds himself deeper in the castle and gets what he thinks is a glimpse of whatever prowls the halls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gonna set my body free  
> Run down to the river and drown  
> Gonna see what it's like to get clean
> 
> Gonna set my soul free  
> Gonna throw my faith in the fire,  
> Gonna burn it till the sin ain't real.
> 
> Come on child, don't you know, right from wrong?  
> Come on child, don't you know how to get along?
> 
> Gonna set my heart free  
> Gonna bury it in fertile ground  
> Gonna see if it grows up mean"

“ _You must trust me. There will be times that I will appear heartless and cold. It isn't without reason. You want to see them burn as much as I do, perhaps if not more for what they did to your family. You can back out now if you still wish.”_

_The young woman shook her head. Her mouth pressed into a firm line, fists clenched tightly at her side.  
“Please, take a seat Dear Heart, there is much I must tell you.”_

 

“He ran? _Cazzo_ , the hell do you mean he ran? What did you do?” Excella yelled down the comms unit. She grit her teeth, biting down on her thumb nail.  
“I did nothing.” Wesker remained calm. “I told him what he deemed to be an inconvenient truth. I haven't let him escape. He will come back to us.”  
“ _Col cavolo lo farà_...” ( _Like hell he will_ )  
“I won't allow him to venture far on his own.”  
“Good. Because he could ruin this for you all over again.”  
Wesker didn't bother replying. He knew exactly what Leon was capable of, especially the messes he was capable of making for him. But the look in his eyes before he took off, something told the Tyrant that it wouldn't be the case. Be it perhaps his ability to influence lesser infected, or simply that Leon was indeed 'practically a genius'. Something clicked within him. Still, for all his morality, he was deeply naïve. For someone his age it was astounding how earnest he'd remained. There was bitterness that tainted his world view, but such wide-eyed hopefulness that made Wesker resent the young man more than he cared to admit.

 

Leon found himself venturing the halls he'd walked with Wesker not long ago. He knew if he went out the front door then he'd be met with the HCF militia. Somehow he doubted they'd be quite so patient as Wesker had been. He grimaced at the thought. The man had been patient. He didn't want to see good qualities in him, if he began to do that he knew exactly where that'd lead. He'd done it enough to know that with certain people it wouldn't work. No matter how much he told himself that he could do something for them, some people didn't _want_ to be helped. Wesker was definitely in no need of help. Their goals couldn't align. Then came the implications of what would happen, even if he was right. How could he tell people? Everything they all knew, everything flipped on its head. No, it had to be a lie. He was gullible, he knew that and Wesker had to know that to be appealing to his better nature.  
He wished he had a radio that wasn't on a fixed frequency. To call someone, to just tell them what he'd heard. He couldn't process it on his own, not so soon after-  
  
His mouth felt dry once more, the cough threatening to overpower him. Leon knew exactly what happened to people who were infected and got stressed in the first few hours. It'd accelerate it, which was probably exactly what Wesker had wanted. He didn't even know what to expect. All he knew was he'd start seeing things. Things that were oddly useful, but the experience itself was nowhere near worth it. He could remember the way his chest pounded at the horrific visions before him, the cold sweat on his brow and the clamminess of his palms. His stomach lurched at the thought, causing him to stagger and use the wall to support himself. _You didn't plan this at all. You ran off like a child, ill-equipped and no idea what you're getting yourself into. Typical, Kennedy. How in the fuck have you lived this long? Wesker was right, you are nothing more than a god-damned roach._  
A wave of tiredness hit him like a tonne of bricks. He just wanted to close his eyes and curl up in a corner. He couldn't tell if it was an artificial tiredness or if it had genuinely been so long since he'd last slept. There were no clocks, no indicator of time in this place other than the light that filtered in through the windows. But the windows were growing further in between. He must have been drifting towards the middle of the castle at this rate. The only illuminations from the candles lit in their holsters, at this point, he couldn't tell if they were lit or if he was imagining things again. He didn't care. Regardless of whatever was in store for him, he followed their 'route'.  
The cobwebs seemed fewer and further between. Despite the castle being seemingly abandoned, he knew he'd mused on it beforehand but was still astounded at how pristine certain parts of the castle had been. Yes, there was the excavation team outside as well as the militia, but how long had they been here to do so much? As the Agent lightly dragged the tips of his fingers over the wall he'd expected a inch of dust to come away, but there was none. The air didn't smell thick with must. If anything it was the musk of incense, a spiced and woody scent with a hint of sweetness. The heaviness of his eyelids meant nothing at this point, neither the way the light seemed to blur as he moved his head to look around. It was a dizzying sensation but he'd experienced it so many times in low light before when he'd been tired he no longer gave it thought. He'd first experienced it in Raccoon City's sewers. The way Claire moved her torch and it reflected off the water, combined with the crushing sensation of his hangover hadn't been a combination for comfort.  
  


There was a point when he was sure that he could hear chattering. It was muffled by the stone walls and thick wooden doors. Upon a second glance he opened one of the doors and was met with an impressive theatre-like structure. How big even was this place? There were enough seats to fit probably over fifty people, possibly more, he couldn't tell. Whatever production they were planning on performing, the remnants were left upon the stage.  
Old set designs had crumbled and decayed, the paint flaked off long ago leaving dull stains in remnant of the colours. It was simple, compared to what was possible these days, but the artistry was perhaps more impressive because of how old it was. The chattering had stopped when he entered, like his presence had interrupted their conversation. It made it skin crawl, but there was something welcoming about this section of the castle. Maybe it was the small oil lamps that illuminated the area giving it an intimate setting. Upon the stage was an old piano and for a split second he thought he could almost hear it being played. He knew it wasn't. It was impossible and after all the tricks his mind had been playing on him so far, this was probably the least threatening thing it could throw at him.  
Leon made his way down the aisle towards the stage, upon settling himself on there he noticed that the lights in the hallway had gone out. He quirked a brow. So what was it about the theatre that this place 'wanted' to show him?  
  


He groaned and slumped back on the stage, letting his legs dangle off the side and his arms laid above his head. It wasn't the most comfortable, but the urge to sleep was becoming almost impossible to ignore. His mind continued wandering, the image of a woman with thick black curls and olive skin sat at the piano was far too easy to envision. She sang beautifully, or so he assumed. There were no lyrics, just singing a tune. She wasn't of any real significance within the castle, perhaps a servant that managed to slip away for some down time. He smirked to himself, putting it down to too many fantasy books and stories when he was younger. He had to admit, he was curious about the history of the place, in a morbid sort of way. It was impossible to look at old buildings and not wonder what stories were held within the walls, he also blamed it on his parents watching archaeological documentaries after dinner on a Sunday. They never dug up anything of particular interest really, it was always bits of sharpened flint, old coins, broken pottery... but he spent most of his time hoping they'd unearth some sort of magical artefact. He didn't know what it'd do, but he wanted to go through old temples like they did, but ones no one had explored or seen. And in it there'd be some sort of glowing treasure in the middle of it all. But he had been young and thirsty for adventure.  
  
_Well. You got what you wanted in a way._ Although fighting monsters sounded noble in stories about knights, barbarians and sorcerers, what he did was far less glamorous. They always had a group they travelled with, Leon got sent alone for the most and if he did go with someone.. well, he'd begun to think of himself as something of a 'kissing Kate Barlow'.  
Leon rolled on his side and dragged himself up onto the stage fully. He didn't want to think about it, but the more he let his mind wander the more he found the topics making him wish he could switch off his brain. If Wesker was right, then would it have been possible to save Luis? Jack? Hell maybe even Mike the poor pilot. He brought his knees up, curling around himself. Part of him wanted to curl up under the piano and see if everything had calmed down when he woke up. Slowly he did just that and shifted underneath the piano. He couldn't explain it, but it felt safe there. The theatre felt like a sanctuary, if that made any sense. Which it didn't. The whole place was booby-trapped up to the nines.  
  
The image of the woman with dark curls clawed its way into his mind's eye. Her singing sounding louder now that she was closer. The rhythm was soothing, perhaps a little chilling but it was docile. He closed his eyes, trying to blink away the dry sting he felt prickling. The singing sounded so close and real, but it wasn't just singing he could hear, there was a string instrument in there. Larger than a violin, what was it, a cello? It dragged slowly, the note low and steady. It sounded like she was practising, hoping to rise above her station of a servant. He didn't know what time it was. But his body was telling him it was time to sleep.

 

Not that sleep was an option in this place. People had been going missing. People who wandered away from the group. His eyes shot open. The intimate lighting that had bathed the theatre had since disappeared, leaving the the place dark. He could barely see his hand in front of him. Of course there wouldn't be windows. He rose slowly on his knees and hands, trying to find exactly where he was. His head connected to the bottom of the piano with a thunk and he hissed, arching over and clutching the bump. If there ever was a wake up call... He grumbled to himself as he reached out and found one of the piano's legs. Near it was the piano stool. _Good. Okay I can work with this..._ The more pressing question should really have been, how in the hell did I find my way in here with no light? But if he gave that too much thought then that'd be a whole other kettle of fish to start dealing with. He didn't let the reality of things the Virus was capable of settle in. If he didn't acknowledge it then it'd be easier to deal with. Though denial never really got him particularly far. The threat of imminent pain and death was normally the best motivator for anything.  
  
The silence of the theatre was broken by the door creaking open. As It did, Leon could just about make out a faint blue glow. It was huge. There was no definitive shape like there had been when he looked at Wesker. It was almost like a giant wisp. _Ignore it. Just keep moving. You've got this_. And then he heard the footsteps. They were heavy and loud one moment then almost inaudible the next. Its form constantly shifting. Leon was faced with two options, either sit and stare in horror at what fate could potentially await him, or he could move. Was the only reason he could see it because of the Virus? He thought back to the militia corpses they'd found. A body with no head. He felt his stomach bottom out and grow icy. It was that same creeping dread as the Regenerators back in Pueblo. The way they jerked as they moved, that strobe wheezing for breath, the way their teeth chattered without clattering together. He felt a cold sweat roll down the back of his neck. _Move damnnit_.  
  
He blinked, trying to find just a semblance of light to follow, thankfully the door had been left open, giving him just a little hint to see by. If he kept his eyes open too long the light would prickle out of his sight, his vision would fade leaving him in the pitch darkness. Christ, he wished he had Wesker's ability to see in the dark right about now. Further back in the theatre there was a crash, whatever the wisp was, it'd been physical enough to knock over a suit of armour. His mind gave him a vision, flashing of a man with a warped face, his arm sweeping out and backhanding the armour as though someone was hiding in there. He shook his head and looked up. He spotted the stage curtains and concluded that it was definitely now or never. He remained low, mostly crawling to minimise visibility and noise. Each placement of his limbs was vital, so as to avoid any creaky floorboards. The dust on the stage was thick, unlike the rest of the castle. _Oh joy, you found the only unexplored room so far, good job. Now for your troubles you have to sneak around another delusion. Go you!_ He shifted closer, bumping into the thick velvet of the curtain. He could always hide in the curtain, but he doubted his luck. He needed something he could reinforce. He slowly got to his feet and shifted further behind the cover of the stage curtains. There had to be something... A small glimmer of light caught his attention. A tiny pin prick of light that cut through the darkness, a crack in a door. His heart stopped hammering and he sprung forwards. He pushed open the door and gently closed it behind him.  
  
It was a storage closet of some sort. Shelves stacked high with equipment and props. The light wasn't the same intimate dull red that it'd been out on the stage though, it was the icy blue. His eyes widened, realising that he'd perhaps stumbled across a trap. He recalled the hue from the deer head. Immediately he regretted his decision. Caught between a rock and a hard place was an understatement. He'd liked to have said that out in the theatre he'd have had an idea of what he was facing compared to whatever was waiting to go wrong in here, but that'd have been him kidding himself. He tried to stay positive about it. Perhaps it'd show him the servant playing the music using a secret door?  
He blinked the weariness from his eyes and looked around. The slow blur was back in his vision. He could have blamed the light headedness on hitting his head, but he was too shrewd for that. There was a pattern he wasn't about to ignore. _You don't know what'll happen, but be braced. Something will happen. But it won't hurt you. They're only visions._

 

He'd look back on this incident and perhaps laugh sardonically into a bottle of whiskey, should Wesker allow such things at the camp.  
The wall served to keep him supported as his palm flattened on the cold stones. The grain and scratch was enough to keep him focused and in an attempt to remind him what was 'real'. Or at least that was what he told himself. Initially he hadn't noticed the nature of the props on the shelves and upon closer inspection wished that he hadn't. Ball jointed dolls with broken arms, eyes and completely 'shaved heads'. Something about the dotted holes where hair would be threaded through made his skin crawl. He was sure one had a twitching eye. The articulation of the eyelid clearly broken over the cracked glass of the eye. Obviously a cheery show if these things were props in it. The chattering resumed.

It was a short burst, much like a distorted child's laugh with a low rattle. Leon drew his pistol and fired a round at a doll in the direction of the laughter. _What are you doing. If that thing's out there you're going to draw its attention!_ He had his knife, but he couldn't even begin to fathom wanting to get that close to these things. Sure enough there was a loud crash from the other side of the door. It sounded closer than it had been when he was hiding under the piano.

 

A barricade. That's what he needed. In a hurried motion Leon grabbed one of the shelving units and dragged it towards the stage door. It was heavier than he gave it credit for. But this wasn't a cheap IKEA unit made from MDF, this was solid thick wood like everything else in this place. The metal frame was old and rusted, the ridges scratched his fingers and made him thankful he'd been keeping up with his tetanus shots- _Can you even get tetanus now?_ \- He shook his head and grunted loudly, swapping angles to go from pulling to pushing the shelves. No sooner had he got it propped against the door did something start hammering on the other side. Leon jolted away and looked to the coppery dust on his gloves and fingers, he grimaced and dusted it off on his cargos. He grabbed the pistol again and aimed it at the door. There had to be another door, this couldn't just be it.

 

Caught up in the panic he hadn't noticed the dolls were no longer on the other shelves. It was only when something sharp dug into his calf and he cried out he realised that he'd made a mistake. He sunk down and clutched at the wound. It wasn't particularly deep, but the blade had been curved, then pulled out in a straight line, further tearing flesh. He growled and looked up, making eye contact with one of the horrific little dolls. It stood up on both legs, seemingly unsupported by anything, but upon squinting he noticed the light reflecting off almost invisible strings. Strings implied a puppet master. A puppet master meant something else was potentially in there. His mouth dried as it totted towards him with abnormal speed, the joints clanking sounding like macabre castanets. Their laugh was louder, two tonal with too much elongation on a pitch. Fuck, just when he didn't think things could get worse.  
Creatures and BOWS were one thing, but when they managed to get too much into his personal space that was another entirely. They were relentless and made him feel trapped further. The more he backed up, the more he'd discover were waiting for him behind him. He shouted as once again another small blade slashed his calf. Thankfully it wasn't a stab, but it stung all the same. He was going to look like he'd been attacked by a pack of angry cats at this rate. Wesker would find him and all he'd be able to say was he got caught off guard by angry claws. Except they weren't and talking about possessed dolls would be that much worse.  
  
He gave an unrepentant kick, lashing out at the closest one to him. It flew and crashed into the wall, shattering several limbs. It fell to the floor and a silence was ushered, the other dolls turning their gaze to their fallen brethren. It remained motionless and for a moment Leon felt a swell of courage. He could save his ammo and just punt the damn things to death. Perhaps his cockiness got the better of him for a moment. The body then jolted, the mouth dropping and let out an unholy screech. Despite the tattered limbs it was determined to move, rather than standing it scuttled towards him.  
The reaction was immediate. As soon as it got within distance Leon stamped down on it. The clay, glass, whatever the hell it was made of cracking under his boot. It wailed and Leon shouted louder, stamping repeatedly until there was nothing left solid enough to twitch.  
One down, nine left.

He couldn't stand the noise they made as he crushed them under foot, as they impacted with the wall. That terrible screech and howl. Though, despite the way it set his teeth on edge, the entire experience was deeply cathartic. It'd been a while since he'd fought enemies so easily vanquished. To not feel like the odds were so stacked against him, whilst it only served to prove how unrelenting he was, this was a breath of fresh air.

 

The feeling didn't last long. The screeches soon turned into a loud ringing in his ear, his vision blurring at the side of his sight. He recalled the faint feeling, the dizziness like everything was spinning when he blinked. At the back of his throat he could feel the thickness once again. Dry, scratching and creeping up. He hacked. Splattered on the floor in front of him was a mix of black and deep red. He wasn't entirely sure if he should be thankful that it was mostly black, but it explained the light-headedness. He wheezed and lost footing, falling on his arm perhaps a little harder than was comfortable. He couldn't see the dolls anymore, all he could see was the shelving unit he'd pushed against the door rocking violently as something hammered at the door. He knew he should have tried to move, but he couldn't. His eyelids too heavy, the rest of him feeling like driftwood being carried unwillingly in a downward spiral. He surrendered and closed his eyes, finally exhausted, hoping that the pretty servant woman might have lead him into this hell room for a reason...

 

“ _Just what did you manage to do to yourself this time, Pet?”_

 

 

The voices felt distant, and yet the tone was piercing enough to be probably right next to him. One tone was smooth, in the face of the more sharp somewhat higher pitched one. At first all he could see was light, it was bright, his lashes and the remnants of tears at the edges of his eyes distorting it. He'd been coughing so much before he'd passed out. His throat felt ragged again, no doubt his voice would be raspy. Christ, he wished they'd stop talking.  
He rolled over, recognising the feel of the slight scratch of the sheets from the camp bed he'd woken up in before. Wesker's tent?  
The words started to seem more coherent and less like white noise. No doubt it was Wesker, he'd recognise that voice anywhere. Excella's was hard to forget too, though he hadn't heard it raised before. Lord knew how Wesker put up with her yelling in his ear-piece so much. Clumsily he tried to prop himself up on his palms, only to misjudge it by a fraction. His hand went down through free air and from trying to shift nearly found himself face first on the floor again.  
Thankfully Wesker had spotted the agent moving around and rushed to grab him. Leon blinked until he could clearly make out just how close to the floor he'd gotten.  
“Pet, you really need to stop pushing yourself.”  
“'The fuck're you callin' pet-” Leon groaned, wincing at the light once again. He felt hungover. His head pounded and his mouth tasted acrid. _The virus_. “Ngh-”  
“Easy.” Wesker offered calmly, ushering him back into the bed. “You passed out.”  
Leon only offered a low growl back and snatched the cover from Wesker's hand, burying himself under it to block out the light. It felt as though his headache abated almost instantly. He knew he needed food and drink, that'd been half the problem whilst he'd been wandering the castle. Still, no matter how far he'd gotten he still couldn't escape Wesker.  
  
Excella clicked her tongue on her teeth and settled down on the chair at the desk. It was intriguing the way that Wesker seemed to dote on the agent. And yet despite the way he handled him like he was fragile, there was no denying the way he failed. She hadn't heard the full conversation that they'd had, but it'd made Leon run. Albert wasn't the most patient person. Nor was he particularly gifted when it came to empathy, the two things no doubt tied. She wondered how long it'd be this amusement he gained from calling Leon 'Pet' would last. For now he was because he unwillingly did as he asked, but when he really began to fight back would the novelty last? She doubted it. Especially from how unrepentant he was about sacrificing the lives of the men despite there being something in there. The images Albert had brought back from the sites of their men's slaughter wasn't something she could ignore. Albert however was going to continue to be stubborn. She sighed and grabbed Leon's canteen, offering it towards the blanket monster.

“Here, bambino, you should keep your liquids up.” She soothed as best as she could. “It was reckless running into the castle by yourself. As much as you may despise us we have to work together, yes?”  
“I don't owe you two shit.” His voice was muffled, but the venom was clear enough. He grabbed the water despite the tone.  
“Not for our sake, but for yours. Survival is a universal goal, yours, mine, Albert's, our men. Especially with that thing in there-” Wesker scoffed loudly and shook his head.  
“Those scenes proved nothing.”  
“They didn't answer any questions _either_. In fact it only gives us more to try to find the answer too. You'll forgive the rest of us if we are unnerved by a potential unknown enemy.”

  
There was something admittedly thrilling about watching Wesker of all people get barked at by someone smaller than him. Yes, she was quite a statuesque beauty, but it was apparent that she hadn't been told about her slim frame and the fact the man stood a head and a half taller than her. Either that or she just didn't care. Given her attitude she'd shown on their first meeting he wondered exactly why he let her get away with it. She must have been worth the clashing of opinions. And yet here he was wondering exactly who she was. Where she fit in with this all?  
Leon slowly emerged from under the covers, and took a long chug of the water. He felt like he needed popcorn.

“It's only fear of the unknown. Once it has a face we will know what it is. If it can hurt our men, it's physical and we can kill it.” Wesker looked at Excella down the bridge of his nose, just peering over the top of his shades. To anyone else, Leon was sure there'd be a sneer attached to the look. It wasn't so much as he didn't dare, perhaps holding back.  
“I think I saw whatever it was.” Leon rasped, finally speaking up. The water soothed his throat partially, but it still hurt to raise his voice. “Couldn't be sure, wasn't exactly feeling right at the time.”  
“And?” Excella turned to look at him, she looked expectant.  
“Hate to piss on your parade but all I saw was a blue light. It was like a wisp. But whatever it was it wrecked several suits of armour.”  
Wesker hummed lowly. “An invisible BOW.. not unheard of, there is a breed of Hunter capable of such-”  
“A hunter? Where would it have come from? We didn't bring any with us. We track every BOW we sell.” Excella shook her head, an exasperated huff leaving her. “We have no Austrian buyers for that type. Besides, you cannot control this creature like other BOWs. You can't sense it.”  
“Then it's tied to a different virus altogether if we follow that line of logic.”  
“What else did you see?”  
“One minute it was there, the next it wasn't.” Leon winced. This had seemed fun at first, but now he was caught up in a debate he didn't have the effort to care about. Sure he wanted to know what it was, but the sensory overload was getting the best of him. “It's tied to the castle.. that's about as much as I can tell.”  
“Which doesn't particularly help us. There are writings of old cults, if you think back to Los Illuminados in Pueblo. Those parasites were fossilised. The files about Kijuju..” He hummed lowly, “Ancient BOWs created by the local fauna and flora-”  
“-Yay, virus cults, like we need more of those in our lives.” Leon winced and shook the now empty canteen. “As thrilling as this is, can you two bitch somewhere else, my head's killing me.”  
“You will also probably need food too.” Excella hummed, “alright, you, time to go.” She pushed against Wesker's arm, “we can discuss this in the morning, time to give your 'Pet' some food and rest.”  
“'m not your damn pet.” Leon hissed, burying himself under the cover again.

 

It wasn't long before Leon was awoken again by the rustling of the tent flaps. He expected to see Wesker but was met with Excella. She wasn't nearly as dressed up as she'd been earlier now sporting the additions of boots with a fur trim, black leggings and a coat with a fur hood. In her hands was a tray with two large plates of food and a bottle of what looked to be some form of liquor.  
“Now you've had the rest, you look like you could do with a good meal.” Her tone wasn't nearly as sharp as it had been earlier, he'd even dare to say it was soft at the edges.  
“...Thanks.” He took the tray and began digging in. Despite the fact it was easy to tell that this had been made with limited means and a combination of rations and probably food only allowed for Excella and Wesker, it tasted oddly satisfying. Small chunks of beef, onions, carrots, makeshift dumplings. He had to wonder if they ever sent people into the nearby town for supply runs. By the looks of the beef, probably.  
The two ate in silence, Leon too concerned with filling the ache in his belly than the need for information. Perhaps he was eating like a savage, but it didn't seem to bother Excella. Why in the hell was she even here? Company? She didn't strike him as the type to be so needy, whimsical yes.“-Does he really believe that he's helping people?”  
Excella sighed and set her own fork down. Her shoulders sagged as she reached for the bottle she'd brought with her and took a swig. Despite the classy air she presented herself with, it seemed she wasn't above alcoholism; then again how many high flying business execs were?  
“It's more complex than that. Though the fact you haven't tried to shoot either of us perhaps shows that you're more capable of understanding than Redfield.” She gasped as she brought air back into her system. More than just a swig there. The bottle was then offered out to him.  
Leon wondered exactly how good of an idea it would be to drink whilst the Virus was in his system, but part of him was lingering on that nihilistic lack of caring as to what came next. Screw it. He accepted and matched her mouthful. It burned on the way down and made him cough, but for once he didn't feel the acrid taste when he did. So the virus didn't like alcohol, go figure. He never had much of a taste for cognac but here he was.

“So what's so complex about it?”  
“There's a lot riding on it. I'm not going to pretend his intentions are completely noble. He may be trying to eradicate viruses, but he's also on his own revenge quest.”  
“Of course.” Leon rolled his eyes. “Usually they leave you dead.”  
“I'm not so sure that he minds-” Her eyes narrowed, cutting herself off. _“Cazzo,_ if you knew the things Spencer did to those children... The Wesker children. It was a project to gather genetically superior children, all in the pursuit of using viruses on them. Spencer wants immortality.”  
“And he thinks by researching Viruses he's gonna achieve that?” Leon quirked a brow. “Fuck.”  
“You hear these stories of men in African tribes that claim to be over two hundred years old. People who live in seclusion in simpler countries. He wondered if there was something to it.” She looked to Leon and frowned. “There's talk of a hidden site in Kijuju, where they believe they found the key for this. I keep looking through Tricell files to find it, but I lack the rank.”  
_So that's why she's around_. “The mother virus Wesker was talking about?”  
“Exactly. Spencer believes it would give him immortality, but Albert wishes to use it to vanquish all traces of it, keep such power out of unworthy hands.”  
“And he's worthy?”  
“Arrogant he may be, he's not that arrogant.” There was a touch of a bite to her tone, the slight wrinkle of her nose and the way she bared her teeth.  
“Alright. So why are you here? His Tricell link?”  
“He gave me all I needed for my research in University. I wanted to pursue genetic engineering, but my  
famiglia, had other ideas. They wanted me to keep watch on my father, keep him safe at the top of the company. Rather than tell him to step down and have me take over, they'd rather use my ability for the sake of pretence, keep him looking able.”  
“Why? Why not let you?”  
“It wouldn't be proper. I believe was one reason they told me. No, there is a board member that my father idolises. He's a foul swine, an idiot to boot. He wants to pass the mantle to him and have me take care of him.”  
“What about your life. What you want?”  
“La famiglia è tutto.” She sighed, another drink was taken.“Family is all. In Italy your family is the most important thing you have. To them, they spent their lives looking after me, so I must now take care of them. To live how I want to is selfish.”  
“Alright, so better question, how does Wesker fit into all this?”

“He has been looking to jump ship from Umbrella. Tricell is a similar company, the two worked together for a while. Now he cannot gain control of Umbrella to dissolve it Tricell is our next hope. I asked if he could get me to what was rightfully mine, I would help however was necessary. It just so happens he has people loyal to him and a good cause.”  
“You sold your soul.” Leon took a drink and shot an accusatory glare her way. “He may think he's doing good, but how many lives has he destroyed in the process.”  
“Far fewer than your precious government. And a great deal less than Mr. Simmons. One head will be removed, another will return. This is why we must destroy the tools rather than the people.” Excella paused and smirked. “Just how many people have the American government destroyed the lives of under the pretense of 'freedom' when it's been nothing more than a ruse to gather oil or rob resources from a country? You Americans think you're so special.”  
“That's getting a bit personal.” Leon's nose wrinkled, finding himself less interested in anything Excella had to say. “It's not like I get a say in what they do. You think I don't know they're corrupt? If I keep my head down then Sherry stays safe and doesn't get killed for being infected.”  
“Then fight with us.” Excella grabbed the bottle back and took a mammoth swig. “If you recognise that there's a problem only by doing something can you say you were on the right side of history. Or do intend to be a passive lapdog for the rest of your life.”  
“My hands are tied, what do you expect me to do?”  
“You've been presented with an opportunity to start again. With this... virus in you, you have plausible deniability. If everything goes up in smoke, you could claim you were being controlled and get off scot free.”  
“I'm not going to work with you.”  
“No? Your friend Jack wasn't quite so forgiving when he realised how his Government had made a fool of him.”  
  
The bottle had been offered back to him. But he couldn't accept it. Trading swigs with this woman felt even dirtier than spending time walking around that castle with Wesker. Wesker had no pretences but Excella had the ability to gloss up her words, make her intentions sound prettier than they actually were. She couldn't have known the extent of what happened with Jack, he hadn't told anyone. But Wesker seemed to know more than he let on. Hell he wondered if Ada knew. As much as he wore his emotions on his sleeve at times, he was sure he'd done a great job of repressing that fight in Pueblo.  
“Please don't talk to me about him.” He wanted to shout at her, to growl and hiss and spit, but all he could muster was a weary sigh. His skin crawled just thinking about it. What he'd been faced with seemed so much like him but whatever he'd been close to in Jack before had been drowned amongst the rage and bitterness.  
Excella's brows rose for a moment before she settled back into the comfort of the chair. She crossed her legs and set the bottle down on the table, there should Leon feel the need to reach out for it.  
“Jack had hoped that you would come around. He thought you were too naïve to see it.”  
“You turned him into a monster. Both of you. Whatever you did to him you won't do to me. That man wasn't the Jack Krauser I'd worked with and come to trust with my life. Jack wouldn't have-” He stopped himself. The words getting trapped in the back of his throat. Again with that feeling. That feeling if he didn't stop talking then it'd bubble over and the bleakness inside him would never stop flowing until it drowned him and all he cared for. It was like the virus had latched onto that feeling within him.  
He was always told that talking about things would make it better, that it'd purge him of the feeling. But could the world take it? When he'd spoken out before he'd been silenced through contracts and litigation, clever words and the right placement of a question. Did they do the same to Jack after his injury? Did he get gas-lit?  
“He was given a task, he got in over his head which was an oversight on our part. But by the time we were able to get more of our own to Pueblo, he was too far gone and had to be taken out. If we'd tried to remove the plaga he was infected with it would have killed him in the process. Saddler had too much control over him.” Excella's brows dipped, she wasn't looking at Leon, more fixated upon the middle distance. “Saddler got into his head and made him do awful things.”  
“Please just _stop_.” Leon barked. The edges of his voice were hoarse once again, his throat feeling raw. His hands were balled up in the sheets, clenched tightly/ “You don't even know what happened. You weren't there. You didn't see what he did. You didn't-”  
“I'm sorry.” Excella had shifted her chair forward, her hands folded in her lap. “You're right, I don't. And by the sounds of this, it's far worse than we believed at first. I believe you.”  
“You don't even know what-”  
“Some sorts of pain and misery don't need to be spoken about to be understood. I'm sorry they made him betray you like that.”  
Feeling as though he was a guest in his own body had become common place over the past few days. He felt heavier than when he'd been trapped in the room with the dolls. He couldn't bring himself to move, the weight pressing down on him was overwhelming. Let alone knowing what to do. This woman who he'd never met before now knew what he'd been avoiding talking about all this time. People who knew him couldn't even begin to realise why he avoided being close to them. Why certain gestures and noises made him uneasy. There was a noise, he didn't realise what it was until he put a hand to his face and it felt damp. He felt himself shake, everything that'd been held back for months finally making their escape.  
Excella sighed, there was perhaps the intent to comfort him but she held back, instead getting to her feet.  
“I'll leave the bottle there for you-”  
“Don't.”  
“You don't want it?” His mouth pressed into a firm line, trying to fight back the mess of emotion. As much as he believed in honesty about emotions there was still something to be said about crying in front of the enemy. He'd had enough of being alone and here was someone who got it, but he couldn't bring himself to be so pathetic to ask her to stay. He was their prisoner, not someone they were supposed to support and care for. _You're supposed to be better than this_. This wasn't just about Pueblo, this was about Raccoon, this was about South America, this was about everything. How much he and those he cared about suffered so much because of this wretched organisation. He'd been too tired to begin to process the implications beforehand, but it was difficult to demonise people who were apparently more compassionate than the people on your side. “He was the same. We all were. The weight of such a terrible realisation, it's a difficult burden to come to terms with. You weren't even supposed to live.” Excella sighed and ran a hand through her hair in exasperation.  
“What?”  
“Albert had hoped that you would be sent here, something of a... well a warning to Miss Wong, to remind her exactly who she had betrayed. She sold the plaga sample to Spencer instead of bringing it back to us. You'd do well to forget a woman like that. It's all well and good to look out for yourself, but at such an expense with such a man...”  
“So what am I now?” Leon wiped his face on the heel of his palm. “A complication?”  
“An opportunity. How you wish to play this is up to you, but we would rather you make informed decisions than remain blindfolded by Simmons. Find your own truth.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gonna set my conscience free  
> Where there ain't no judge in sight  
> Well it's all just a mystery
> 
> Don't you know the answer's in the sky, oh oh  
> If you believe just let your spirit fly, oh oh  
> Can't you feel the heavens open wide, oh
> 
> Fool, the answer ain't in the sky  
> It's in the heart of a child  
> The beauty's there inside
> 
> Gonna set my body free  
> Run down to the river and drown  
> Gonna see what it's like to get clean"  
> The White Buffalo - Set My Body Free  
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	5. Coincidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesker takes Leon and a handful of HFC members to return to the theatre to establish what happened. Whilst there Leon gets another piece to the confusing puzzle of the castle's history. A name is mentioned that leaves Wesker and Excella unsettled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "On a dark new year's night  
> On the west coast of Clare  
> I heard your voice singing  
> Your eyes danced the song  
> Your hands played the tune  
> T'was a vision before me
> 
> We left the music behind as the dance carried on  
> As we stole away to the seashore  
> We smelt the brine, felt the wind in our hair  
> And with sadness you paused
> 
> Suddenly I knew that you'd have to go  
> Your world was not mine, your eyes told me so  
> Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time  
> And I wondered why"

When he woke up his head pounded. It was a different sort of pounding than had been familiar for the past few days. It was an intense throbbing like his head was several sizes too small, the light that fell on the tent was far too bright and the jovial alarm that blared from his phone that was once a favourite song was now a fucking traitor.  
Wesker managed to catch the phone that was thrown as it blared 'Get outta my Dreams, Get into my Car' as the alarm and glanced back at the man under the covers. The bottle that'd been left on the side of the table was on its side and very much empty. Leon was sprawled under the covers, a bare leg hanging out, arms above his head and the duvet covering his face. He was fairly sure that the agent was also groaning.  
  
When Wesker had returned during the early hours of the morning he'd been following an incessant laughing that some of the scientists had complained were keeping them awake. Whilst laughter wasn't banned at the camp there hadn't been much reason for it lately with all the deaths leaving it being seen as something of an alien noise.

He'd entered the tent and found Leon and Excella in fits of laughter. Excella had slumped herself across the chair rather than sitting in it like a normal person and Leon lying on the floor with his legs and feet up on the camp bed. It'd been possibly one of the most awkward experiences of his life. Walking in half way through a joke you weren't in on was one of the quickest ways to make it feel like you were the subject of it, this assumption was only furthered when they paused, looked at him and burst out laughing once more.  
Comments about how ridiculous he looked wearing sunglasses at night were exchanged and something about how ripped his face must have been because he was perpetually frowning. Excella was easy to shift, as this wasn't the first time he'd found her cosied up to a bottle of something, let alone the fact she was putty in his hands. She tried to keep her laughter hushed, instead only managing giggling and babbling in Italian about how she could walk. Leon had been stubborn, as always. Wesker had wanted to rest, but Leon was more insistent about talking about everything Excella had told him. It'd taken a very convoluted promise to resume the conversation in the morning when he'd had more time to sleep. He'd also had to promise to give Leon his guns back for when they went back into the castle as he was still deeply unsettled about everything and thought that Wesker wasn't taking the situation seriously enough.

 

“Pet, I did warn you about drinking with Miss. Gionne.” Wesker muttered, silencing the alarm. He winced. He didn't even have a hangover and it was probably one of the most annoying alarms he'd ever heard. How he would soon learn.  
“You didn't warn me about shit.” Leon gurgled. “What time is it?”  
“It's ten a.m, you've missed breakfast.” Perhaps he was a little shorter with Leon than he should have been, but this wasn't a pleasure cruise. “We have work to do.”  
“You should know I'm insufferable if I don't get breakfast.” His head emerged from the top of the duvet, only to recoil when the light hit his eyes. “Worse when I'm hungover.”  
“I've heard that's when you perform your best work.” Wesker purred before pulling the duvet off him.

The agent yelped and turned over, burying his head under the pillow. He groaned louder with a little more feeling of irritation behind it.  
“You're a slave driver.” the agent growled as he winced at the light.  
“Only when I have a point to make. Excella thinks I've been a little too soft on you, but it seems it's been more the other way round. Get your equipment, we're going to return to the Theatre where you saw this 'wisp'”  
“Fine. Fine. Give me ten.”

 

Wesker hung around by the requisitions tent, waiting for the tardy agent. What he was coming to the conclusion was that Ada failed to mention asides Leon being 'practically a genius' was his magnetic ability with others. He may have had Excella practically cooing over him, but he wasn't about to be nearly such a soft touch. Leon emerged from Wesker's tent with a yawn and a stretch, his body jolting slightly as several joints popped. Despite complaining about sporting a hangover he seemed oddly spry. When he'd arrived there'd been deep set bags around his eyes which where now barely there, despite being awake until nearly three o'clock that morning. What it was to be young.  
  
“Your weapons.” Wesker gestured to the arsenal that'd been confiscated upon his arrival to the camp. Most of them were gear he'd acquired from Pueblo and all heavily modified. The only difference was his affinity for twin pistols. The fantasy of being a gunslinger, Wesker had to scoff to himself when he'd examined them. Whether he was as good of a shot as he thought would be yet to be seen. “They haven't been tampered with, merely locked away. Check them if you will.”  
“You're not worried about me just.. opening fire on everyone here?”  
“One man army you may be capable of being, but I doubt you're that much of a fool.”  
Leon looked around the camp, it didn't appear nearly as hostile as it had a day or two ago, he noticed more of the groups talking and converging. He was fairly sure from the body language between one of the scientists and HFC members they were.. chatty. Even in the light there was an odd bluish glow around the HFC members, but the scientists and Excella lacked it. Despite their goal supposedly being eradicate viruses they were still pretty gun ho about using them on their own to increase power.  
“You see them now, don't you?” Wesker drawled, his tone passive with a hint of amusement.  
“See the viruses?” Leon blinked and rubbed his eyes. “The blue glow.”  
“You see them how I see. I'm capable of gaining control of them at any point, using their bodies to perform tasks that perhaps would result in their deaths. If they don't wish to experience it but are willing I can oblige them.”  
“This you trying to tell me that you don't force them to do anything?” Leon picked up his pistols and one by one checked them. “Nice try, but you can always subtly influence them. Who's to say they're aware of what they're doing now?”  
“Because they're loyal to me. They believe in their cause, something they never did with Spencer.”  
Leon hummed, albeit dismissively. Wesker did an awful lot of talking rather than showing, but it was still early days. Perhaps he didn't know how to convey it? Not that he was going to give Wesker a break for it. “I seem to recall that you don't exactly have much of a regard for their lives.”  
“They understand that some things must be done.”  
“A bit extreme for me.” Leon shrugged, holstering his guns. They weighed him down, but the weight brought comfort that he couldn't begin to explain. These weapons had seen him through terrible times and he could rely on them. “So, because I saw the blue wisp, you think it's a virus.”  
“That would be the most logical connection.” Wesker beckoned the agent follow him as they approached the draw bridge once more. This time however Leon noticed several HFC members followed behind them, although there was a distinctive gap between the groups. “Excella doesn't believe it's that simple, but as brilliant as her work may be, she can lean towards choosing answers that border on fantastical rather than scientific.”  
“I'd say I agree, but I've hallucinated enough things that I can't explain. Those dolls came to life and attacked me, were there any traces of them when you arrived?”  
“There were broken dolls yes, but none of them had anything sharp. What I can determine happened was you had brushed against a nail that stuck out of the shelf you lodged against the door. Many of those shelving units had been poorly put together.”  
“Alright, so what was the purpose of being led to that room? The deer at least lead to a key, what about those dolls?”  
“That's what we're going to find out. We also have to check that corridor where the key was found.”  
Leon's skin prickled at the thought and shook his head. “I'd rather not.”  
“You'd rather not?” Wesker scoffed, echoing his words.

“I think whatever's behind there needs to stay there.” Leon lifted his arm and watched the hair on his forearms raise and his skin go bumpy. It went up to the back of his neck. It wasn't even necessarily as cold as it had been, yet he couldn't shake the chill.  
“And you'd rather check the room where you were attacked by dolls?”  
“Something is back there that needs to stay there. Besides, it's not like I have a say anyway. You're just dragging me around.”  
“You're in luck in this case, I'm more interested in seeing this wisp than I am seeing what's behind that door. For now.”  
  


Unlike last time, the hallways didn't light up in that comforting yellow light of the flame torches as they made their way to the theatre. The sunlight was dim, but it poured through the smeared and dusty windows where it could, mostly the corridors were lit by their flash lights. Echos of images flitted in and our of Leon's mind's eye. Part of him was baffled about this image of the servant woman with thick, curled black hair. He wondered exactly where he could have picked it up, was there a painting he'd noticed in the corner of his eye? Servants didn't typically have paintings done of them though, they were left forgotten in history. There was also the matter of discussing it with Wesker with the HFC so far behind him. He could stand Wesker looking at him like he was nuts, but there was something about the silent judgement of people he didn't know that stung a little more. If it was just between him, Wesker and Excella he had confidence in himself. Which he knew was ridiculous and amounted to nothing more than caving to pressure of others.  
The theatre wasn't in as good shape as he recalled it being. Not that he could see much of it regardless at the time. Sure enough there were several sets of armour that were smashed on the floor. Even one of the support pillars for the upper circle had large gashes through it, splintering and practically tearing the thing in half. The HFC members filtered through the area, their guns weren't out but several had a twitchiness about them. Leon wondered if they were younger members, more inexperienced. Or perhaps these were the older ones, who'd lived through viral outbreaks and knew what could happen, knew just how unpredictable these creatures were.

 

“Whatever it was it's made a hell of a mess.” The HFC commander commented, running his finger across the splintered wood. The man glanced back to Wesker who hummed lowly in acknowledgement. He was of an average height, but what he lacked in height he made up for in the broadness of his shoulders. He must have taken the Redfield school of thought, be as phsycially strong as possible to be capable of going toe to toe with the infected. At his temples his brown hair had streaks of grey coming through, but lacked any real defined age lines on his face. Stress or trauma induced perhaps?   
“You said it sounded heavy footed and then silent interchangeably?” Wesker called to Leon.  
The Agent was sat at the edge of the stage once more, examining the piano, far more interested in this fantasy of the woman singing than whatever monster had been destroying the place.  
“It was too dark to see it. There were lights on when I first got in here, but I started drifting off and they were gone. It broke the door off the hinges and went from there.” He shrugged. He knew it didn't sound particularly impressive or as terrifying as it had been at the time, but there was a feeling that he was being humoured rather than taken seriously. There wasn't any point in committing if he wasn't going to get anything back from them. “I don't know if it could see me or not. But it took a lot of issue with those statues of armour, must have said something about its mother or some shit.”  
“Pet, please do keep on track.” Even with the shades on, Leon could just about get the impression Wesker's brows had dropped at the comment; mostly in exasperation.  
“What do you want me to say? Something lead me in here, and when that thing showed up they'd left.”  
“They? Implying there was someone here.” Wesker's tone grew quiet as he approached Leon.

The agent stared at the other man, he'd been swinging his legs off the edge of the stage but remained stationary in his presence, there was a distinctive unease that rushed over him whenever Wesker spoke calmly to him. He didn't trust it. He had no idea if it was a ruse or he genuinely believed him, he'd believed him about the fireplace vision as it'd been useful and whilst he didn't have the capacity it seemed to understand that the hallucinations were often unnerving he at least acknowledged that they seemed to have a purpose. The others he couldn't be so sure.

“There was a woman here singing. The fire torches were all lit and it was just... comforting, okay? After what happened before I got here-” He cut himself off and scowled, he didn't really want to tell Wesker exactly how much his little speech had rattled him with his implications, but his reaction was probably enough. “Anyway, she seemed important. When the blue wisp showed up there was a light on in the prop room, so I ran to it and then got stuck. The light wasn't orange when I got in there, it was blue like when the deer head was being weird.”  
“Orange light is good, blue light is bad.” Wesker noted, mostly for his own sake and glanced to the prop room. “We're going to check in there. It could have been for the sake of safety, but normally we find things after such visions.”  
Leon grimaced as he looked to the now slightly miserable looking door. Wesker had managed to cause some damage in trying to break it open. He must have been making a hell of a racket for him to have been able to find him, although there was also the possibility that he'd been using the infected hive mind. He flicked his tongue over his lips and gave a weary sigh, nodding in defeat.  
“Fine.”

 

He swung his legs up on the stage and made his way towards the door, trying to forget those awful chatting laughs the dolls made. Though part of him was curious as to what exactly the room really looked like. Whether those dolls really looked quite so deformed and ugly as they had.  
Wesker beckoned for the HFC men to follow them, though two remained posted outside the prop room as watch. Sure enough, the dolls laid scattered around the room. They were hideous, just in a different way. Their curls and hair was matted and mucky, the ceramics shattered on most of them. But unlike before they were dressed and their middles were soft, stuffed rather than completely ceramic. He was fairly sure that whilst the concept of bisque dolls was old, it wasn't nearly as old as the castle was. His eyes narrowed and stepped indelicately over the remains of one, shooting it a glare as he went. At the furthest end were two doors. One wouldn't budge, regardless of what they did and Wesker noted that it was possible this was a door that had been sealed over on the other side. Either way, Leon made note of how being near that door made his skin crawl and quickly tried to divert the group's attention to the other door. By comparison this one swung open easily, though not without letting out a draft of old musty air. The smell was awful, stagnant but thankfully not putrid. No one had entered this room in a very long time. There was a tiny window that granted just the smallest glimmer of light into the room, although it mostly functioned to show just how much dust had accumulated. Although dust meant people. Leon felt his skin prickle as he stepped slowly into the room. He expected to be hit with some sort of hallucination, but there was nothing. The only light he could see was that of the torches they brought with them. He pressed his lips into a line and scanned the area.  
There was a bed, small and covered in old moth eaten scraps that were once blankets. There was a small dresser covered in old worn journals and a small piece of parchment with an old and faded sketch. In the corner was a cello. The neck had been snapped and was hanging on by the strings, though barely. He flinched at the image of a tall man with dark hair snapping it in a fit of rage, but the image flitted away in the blink of an eye.  
The HFC men barged past in to examine the room, yanking open the wardrobe to inspect and look around. Wesker however seemed to hang back with Leon, keeping a watchful gaze on him.  
The room itself was spacious, but relatively empty. There was a dressing screen, the painting on it cracked and faded from sun bleach and age. Something about the room made him feel a deep sense of melancholy, something that was entirely new for this castle. So far it'd just made him feel scared and frustrated, this was new. Absently he approached the desk and opened a journal, the ink was quite faded and difficult to make out. From what he could tell they were literate and knew how to write, their writing must have been quite pretty to look at when the writing was fresh. What caught his attention was the scrap of parchment that'd been scrunched up next to them. He picked up the page and tried to flatten it out. It was a sketch of the woman he'd seen on the stage. She looked happy, relatively so. Ocán.

 

The room grew silent and Leon blinked. The HFC members and Wesker were nowhere to be seen. Instead the room was bathed in a gentle candle light that flickered with the draft, the woman was sat on the edge of her bed, laughing and talking with a man that was sat sketching her. He recognised the man, he was the one he'd seen pushed down the stairs in the passage behind the fireplace.  
“The shit...” Leon muttered to himself.

 

He watched the two of them, how happy they seemed to be. Perhaps that's what set off the melancholy, knowing that through one means or another the guy would wind up decomposing behind a fireplace. The image began getting brighter, to the point that he couldn't see anything but a white light. Images flashing of her travelling with others through the mountains, stopping from town to town and entertaining the people despite the hatred they received at the hands of some. Then came the view of the castle. They approached and were greeted by the man he saw snapping the cello. His smile was wide and could have been mistaken for genuine, but Leon got a feeling that there were other intentions in his eyes. The evening fell and the Romani travellers prepared for their performance. Ocán was lead away by the smiling Lord, and whilst she was away the guards descended and slaughtered the rest of the group. The screams were loud and almost deafening. At the sound of the assault Ocán ran back through the castle to find them, only to see the stage drenched in their blood.  
_Now you are mine. To remain here as my prize for all eternity. Clean that mess up_.

 

He choked at the image, noticing the black splatters on his palm. By now they were starting to feel like common place. He wasn't entirely sure when the room returned to normal, but the pressure of a hand on his shoulder gave him something to focus on and ground himself. In his hands he held onto the sketch of the woman, gripping the parchment almost too tight, creasing and warping it further.  
“Kennedy. Kennedy, are you still with us?”  
Leon sharply inhaled, his eyelids fluttered and soon found himself staring at Wesker. Around the room the HFC men were staring at him in turn too, their discomfort more visible that their leader's.  
“Her name was Ocán.”  
“Pardon?” At first he thought Wesker hadn't heard him, or didn't understand him. But the way his expression became something of a forced neutral made his skin crawl. There was something he wasn't telling him.  
“The woman I saw. This is her.” He quickly pushed the page into Wesker's hand. “I think she has something to do with all this.”  
“This woman is long dead, pet. How would she have something to do with this? What purpose would there be to you seeing her?”  
“I don't know.” Leon hissed through gritted teeth. “All I know is that I keep seeing her around. I don't have the answers yet.”  
Wesker made a face somewhere between dismissal and being unimpressed. “Whilst this Ocán may be relevant to the castle's history there isn't any indication that she's tied to our goal.”  
“Then why am I seeing her? You made this useless virus, all it's done is freak me out and be vague, so what am I supposed to do?”  
“Are you saying that you're useless as a result?”  
“I'm saying you did this now take some responsibility for your fuck up-”

 

There was a loud crash from the theatre. It was a combination of wood splintering and the sound of piano keys being hit all at once. Leon jolted and Wesker grabbed him, stopping him from toppling over his own feet, still drained from his hallucination. The HFC guards that had been holding the door rushed in, one was as pale as a sheet and the other utterly bewildered.  
“You're not going to believe this...” the pale one uttered, gesturing over his shoulder to the theatre.  
“What's going on _now_?” Wesker growled, moved Leon away and pushed past the two guards.

In the middle of the stage was the broken remains of the piano. There was a massive indent that resembled a large hooked tool like a crow bar. The impact had shattered the lid and made the legs give out from under it. The keys hung pathetically from the remains and the piano wires began snapping gradually. The noise was like a whip being cracked.

“What did this?” Wesker demanded.  
“We didn't see anything.” the bewildered one put his hands up. “We were keeping watch like you wanted, and then this thing just started getting smashed up.”  
It defied logic, but if Wesker's theory about whatever this was being a BOW that could cloak itself then whatever it was had reacted negatively to Leon leading them to this hidden room. Perhaps there was some merit to Leon digging up the history of this castle. The more resistance they were met with usually meant they were going in the right direction. Whatever this act was, it was a warning. Not that his slaughtered men hadn't been in the first place. It was less violent, but it was shocking nonetheless, perhaps whatever it was didn't like its chances against so many armed men.  
He scanned the theatre, even looking up and realising there was an upper circle. He squinted, catching just the briefest hints of light. It was blue. Pale and fluctuating. As soon as he blinked whatever it was had gone.  
So that was the elusive wisp.

He heard stumbling behind him, and saw Leon leaning against the door frame clutching his side. He'd barely left the agent more than five minutes and his state had rapidly deteriorated, the under eye bags now back, showing how pale he was and the beads of a cold sweat on his brow. The mark from the black sludge he'd coughed up still stained the floor of the prop room, the sense of dread that there would be a repeat performance nagging at the back of Wesker's mind.  
“Kennedy?”  
“I don't...”

Leon dropped like a sack of potatoes to the floor, eyelids fluttering, his breathing shallow and wet.  
“Carry on the search.” Wesker barked, “return to the camp before the sun sets.”  
  


He approached Leon and crouched before him, his eyes narrowed. It was becoming a cycle, the longer the hallucinations the greater the impact and toll they took on him, when he first entered they'd been brief but with little adverse effect. Perhaps this virus would kill him, maybe Excella was right and it was burrowing through him, devouring him bit by bit. Without the means to put him in for a CAT scan it was impossible to tell where it had settled. Or perhaps this was the mutations the plaga gave him fighting against the virus' infection. Concerned wasn't particularly the right word, neither was unsettled, but the effects were new. What he was witnessing was a new and volatile virus that had killed all its other hosts before this boy scout came along. There was nothing genetically impressive about him before the plaga and yet it had chosen him as host. The unpredictable nature was what had him apprehensive. Combined with Leon's general lack of fight against being made to work alongside him. No doubt he'd concocted his own plan, perhaps even a means to escape. Or maybe his priority was just to simply survive, unsure of when he would die. Excella would have spat if she knew who had helped him stabilise the virus, likewise they would have spat if they knew who had considered trying to use the infected hive mind to locate viruses. Both geniuses and women he had respect for. But after meeting Excella there was no way he could turn to her for help. She had more than enough on her plate.  
He lifted the agent with ease, despite Leon's lithe and athletic form he was heavier than he gave him credit for, not that it made any difference to his unnatural strength. For now he would have to rely on his and Excella's knowledge and test what they could. But the implications of these hallucinations were what threw a curve ball into the mix. He'd hoped that Leon would have remained passive and been able to tell them where the Ancient Corpse was hidden. Nothing was ever straightforward and he'd been naïve to let himself hope for such an outcome.

 

When Excella was met with Wesker carrying the agent, drenched from the downpour, she sighed and cleared the examination bed.  
“Another eventful excursion, mm?” Despite the tilt in her tone, there wasn't the same energy as there normally was.  
“Hardly. He hallucinated for longer than I've seen him do previously. He's been prattling on about a woman who used to live in the castle and then this. He could barely keep himself upright when he came to and then he collapsed.”  
“You sound disappointed.” She rummaged through the cabinet of supplies and returned to Leon's side, placing a wet cloth to his forehead. Despite his pale hue he was burning up. “His body is fighting it. What else happened?”  
“The piano in the theatre was broken. The men can't tell me what did it, but it was apparently wrecked by an invisible force.”  
“I would not call that uneventful.” Her brow quirked as she looked to Wesker. “It's shaken you.”  
He didn't reply but his lip curled into something akin to a sneer.  
“Ocán.” He finally stated.  
Excella's lips pursed and looked between Leon and Wesker. “That's a little too convenient to be a coincidence.”  
“He could have heard that name anywhere. He could have read it if he went snooping through your files.”  
“And yet you could have heard that name anywhere before we arrived here. I have those files locked, and you've been monitoring him yourself. He hasn't left your side since he arrived.”  
“Don't try to make this into anything more than it is.”  
“Coincidences like this do not just happen, Albert.”  
“I will leave him in your care and return to the team. Last thing we need is another group disappearing.”

Wesker turned on his heel and returned to the downpour, being able to dismiss people without saying a word was something of a talent he possessed. Excella settled at the desk and began adding more to Leon's report, punctuated by another round of painkillers for the hangover that wouldn't shift.  
It was going to be a long night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "As we cast our gaze on the tumbling sea  
> A vision came o'er me  
> Of thundering hooves and beating wings  
> In clouds above
> 
> As you turned to go I heard you call my name  
> You were like a bird in a cage spreading its wings to fly  
> "The old ways are lost," you sang as you flew  
> And I wondered why
> 
> The thundering waves are calling me home, home to you  
> The pounding sea is calling me home, home to you"  
> Loreena McKennit - The Old Ways
> 
> Wow, sorry this chapter is so short, but I promise shit's going to start get real from here on out. Also a massive thank you to my friend Sam and my fiance Zyren who've both indulged me bouncing ideas off them since day one of coming up with this story.  
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	6. Monstrous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesker concedes and asks Leon about his hallucination. Reflection and considerations are made as are observations. Gestures speak more volumes than arguments can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And I needed one more touch  
> Another taste of divine rush  
> And I believe, I believe it's so oh oh oh
> 
> Whose side am I on? Whose side am I?  
> Whose side am I on? Whose side am I?
> 
> And the fever began to spread  
> From my heart down to my legs  
> But the room is so quiet, oh oh oh oh
> 
> And although I wasn't losing my mind  
> It was a chorus so sublime  
> But the room is so quiet, oh oh oh"

Leon spent most of the day fitfully drifting in and out of consciousness, at one point almost making Excella question her sense and wonder if the agent was going to wake up again or even pull through. She knew that this was being conquered by a defeatist attitude, but the entire situation left her bewildered. At least she was willing to stare the facts dead in the eye, unlike Wesker she didn't liken their situation to staring into the void and accepting its hideous stare back. There were implications that were decidedly unsettling that much she would happily acknowledge, but why Albert was so insistent to ignore them was beyond her. Was it simply because he didn't have an explanation for it? The man was raised to be logically minded, collected and able to analyse anything and everything with the crisp critical eye of a scientist. And yet here he was, commanding a militia. Perhaps he didn't have the patience to remain behind a desk, she'd once wondered. But as ever it lead back to the machinations of one Oswald E Spencer.

Cunt.

 

She huffed and took a sip of her water. She'd once wondered if it was at all possible to despise someone more than she was capable of despising her family and the board at Tricell and then she heard the story. The only thing that made this excursion worth the stress was knowing that if they managed to work out how this smoke virus worked they could turn it into something better, something that would put her at the top of Tricell's list. But she couldn't have both. She could either pursue science or she could run the company. She wanted to do both to spite everyone. Tear her way to the top and if needs be leave a trail of bloodied corpses in her wake. They were all disgusting people anyway. None of them cared about anything but climbing the company ladder. She laughed bitterly to herself and reminded herself that she was no better. She had just sided with those who claimed to be doing good. Everyone was always the hero in their own stories. So what did that make her? The terrible monstrous woman of every businessman's nightmares? The way they straightened up and became incoherent when she entered a room would portray that. So many companies that had risen to try and compete with them were soon torn asunder and bought out, each mysteriously crumbling after one little 'humble greeting' from Tricell's golden daughter. She knew how to lure them in, to them down, to make them all turn upon each other and destroy themselves and when they were caught in her trap she would be there to claim the victory. Except, the victory was rarely acknowledged as hers. That wretched man would be given the glory. How the plan of sending her in was his. Oh, how well he'd taught her, what an intelligent man who'd taken pity on his wayward daughter, put her back on track after her rebellious streak in her twenties and nearly shaming the Gionne family name by-

 

A cough behind her made her jump, spilling her water down her skirt. It started off as a cough, then the wheezing, that disgusting wet rattling that accompanied it. She got to her feet and gave the agent a bucket, forcing him to sit up as he emptied the contents of his lungs. More of the thick black sludge. It looked and shone like tar, and was perhaps as thick. But it didn't smell like anything she could fathom. What had reacted with this agent to give it form. It was nothing more than a gas. But Leon had claimed he'd seen it twist and move like tendrils reaching out to him. Her nose wrinkled at the noises he made, fighting back the urges of a sympathetic vomiter. She raked her teeth on her bottom lip. What if it could be used for a greater purpose? She shook her head.  
No, whatever this was it was a mistake. It shouldn't have been brought into this word. No matter how much trouble this agent was, this was too much.

 

Leon's coughs sounded much less laboured, leaving him with a hoarse voice. He looked dizzy, barely able to hold his head up.  
“Shh, bambino. Try to sleep.” She urged him back against the bed, pulling the covers up over his shoulders. He tried to push them away, but Excella remained firm. “We're going to have to let this run its course. If your body is trying to boil it out, then let it.”  
“What about your precious virus..?” His voice was quiet, taut and barely above a whisper.  
“We will make do.”  
“What if I'm not infected with it after this? I'm of no use to you.”  
“Do you not wish to see this to the end?”  
Leon paused and took a shaky breath, his eyes were glossy from all the coughing and assumedly the pain it brought him, but refused to look the woman in the eye.  
“We shouldn't be here.”  
“Whilst I may agree, others could die at the hands of whatever plagues the castle, can you live with yourself knowing you've allowed it to continue?”  
He closed his eyes and exhaled, “...No, you're probably right. I wouldn't.”  
“There's the boy scout.”  
“So much for you two finding ways to keep me in line.”  
“Less stick more carrot.” She smirked and turned her attention to wiping down the chair that was still wet. “You attract more flies with honey and all those notions. I find it difficult to be unnecessarily cruel to those who haven't wronged me. You are not deserving of cruelty. A slap every once in a while for that smart mouth, yes, but such is the way of you Americans.”  
“Wesker was right.” Leon smirked lazily, already half asleep. “You are soft on me.”  
“Perhaps. But I feel that you've suffered enough.” She paused and narrowed her eyes at a phial on the desk. It was the blood test she had been working on to see how the virus was affecting his system. “But so have many.”

“Excella Gionne a bleeding heart, stop the press.”  
“Enough now, get some sleep.” Her brow hiked up as she regarded him set the bucket down. His arms trembled as he did so, shifting to pull the covers up over his shoulders. He shuddered. Cold again? He was burning up not moments ago. “I'm sure Albert wants his pet in the best condition possible.”  
“So if I'm his pet, what does that make you?” The implication rung loud and clear, although that may have been Excella putting meaning where there was none. The term 'bitch' came to mind, one she'd heard slung at her all too often. She clenched her fist and allowed her expressionless mask to take over.  
“The monster that protects him.”

 

The light faded quicker than was expected, although the terrible weather that day wouldn't have allowed for prolonged excursions anyway. There wasn't a rule about the killer emerging at night but some superstitions couldn't be knocked on the head, night was the harbinger of all terrible things, even if nothing had happened since the piano broke in the theatre. The excursion itself wasn't eventful, a few more doors and passageways were discovered, the map steadily building in detail. Wesker didn't want to claim that the location was safe, but here they were. If anything he was being an opportunist, tomorrow he'd send the excavation team back in again with an armed escort with regular check-ins. For now however, he needed to check up on his fainting agent.

He'd become accustomed to hearing conversation whenever he entered the medical tent when Leon and Excella were together, the silence was new. He didn't want to claim it was unsettling, but it was unusual. One so resilient and abjectly defiant in everything they did was now rendered weak and unconscious. The other silently staring at a screen, a weariness that even make-up couldn't hide. It was a bump in the road in the grand scheme of things. Normally passiveness was his favoured method of observation, he wasn't one of them, he couldn't walk amongst them so pretending he could blend in only reminded him of the Arklay Mansion incident. How quickly it could be pulled from him. That never made the isolation any easier.  
It was easy to rest his palms on her shoulders and press his thumbs into the tense muscles around her shoulder blades. She melted into his hands, leaning back to rest her head against his stomach. As much as there would have been a voice years ago drilled into his head that he didn't have any need for such things, he was now free enough to acknowledge that whilst he may not have had a use there was something... pleasant about it.

 

“Has he woken up yet, dear heart?” He kept his voice quiet, continuing to soothe the muscles.  
“Briefly.” She hummed, stretching against the pressure. Something popped and she exhaled shakily. “He keeps producing more of the bio-matter.”  
Wesker glanced to the bucket with various tubes now sticking out of it, there was also a thermometer. It was still warm despite the sharp chill of the evening air. His brow arched as he returned his attention to the screen. Side by side was a comparison of the virus' original structure, Leon's genetics and the two combined. There wasn't a great deal of a difference in Leon's however the virus' structure had adapted alarmingly well. Perhaps it would kill him after all.  
“It's getting in the way of our productivity. Are you capable of producing something to ease this symptom?”  
“All I can garner is that stress causes it. He's going to be stressed whenever you bring him on excursions, there is no helping it. I could test further in controlled conditions but I am concerned that he is too fragile for that presently.” She paused and placed her hand upon his. “Although, this could work in our favour. He responds well to positive reinforcement. From the files I've procured there's no doubting why he's allowed himself to remain in our hands. We're the better option compared to Simmons' private division. A man so crushed is easily malleable to suit our needs.”  
Wesker didn't reply. He pressed his thumb in one last time before he pulled away. There was a brief flicker of a memory, reading over the classified files of the Wesker project. He recalled a passage he'd also read at the time from another book. 'The best victory is when the opponent surrenders of its own accord before there are any actual hostilities... It is best to win without fighting.'  
Leon had done almost just that. He could have allowed himself to grow smug and complacent, but it had been so easy. Leon wasn't as strong and resilient as he'd been back in Pueblo. There was no pride to be taken in such a victory.

Excella had a point, and whilst he would thoroughly take advantage of it, it wouldn't be the satisfying absolute victory he'd hoped for. Not like the one he'd gained over Excella. She'd fought him so much before and still maintained it even if it was for the sake of her own pride. In the end she was still his.  
“We shall see. I would still hope for some more fight out of our guest otherwise I will be deeply disappointed in Miss Wong's taste in men.” His mouth pressed into a line before the sneer dispersed. “I confirmed the sightings of the wisp.”  
“So there is something in there.” Excella spun on the chair, now no longer slouched. Her expression had lifted. He hated that smug expression.  
“Nothing new, we always knew something was in there.” His brow quirked, “We now have a constant between Kennedy's fits and some of the strange goings on. We can't ask the men if they saw a wisp before they died however.”  
“He is your wayfinder, ask him what happened. You may not like his answer because you can't make sense of it scientifically, but it's all we've got.” She shrugged. “He mentioned Ocán. Perhaps you could offer him a proverbial olive branch with your own knowledge. He will open up further if you share with him.”  
“They were dreams, there was no sense to it.”  
“And as far as he's aware there's no sense to his either. He's a social creature, offer him something and he'll lap it up.”  
His eyes flicked between Excella and the agent asleep on the gurney. It wasn't the problem of acknowledging the visions themselves, it was the implications that were unsettling. He should have been overjoyed that there was a correlation. His comfort shouldn't have been a factor in the decision, yet here he was. He didn't have to be open with the agent, he just had to listen. He could do the latter easily.

 

The Tyrant took a spare chair and set it down next to the gurney and observed the sleeping agent. He didn't appear nearly so pale as he had when he'd collapsed. The under eyebags no longer resembled black eyes either. He appeared in a more stable condition. It was all the encouragement he needed to wake the agent up.  
“Kennedy.” He spoke firmly as he lightly shook his shoulder. The agent's nose wrinkled as he tried to bury himself further under the covers. “You may sleep more later, but right now we need to debrief you after this afternoon's excursion.”  
Leon groaned and rolled on his side, making sure to keep the covers thoroughly around his shoulders.  
“Here to tell me I'm useless again?” His tongue clicked, voice ragged once more from the effort of expelling the bio-matter.  
“That was your own implication, not mine. You were hallucinating in that room and after you did the piano was broken. That's a little too convenient don't you think? Your hallucinations have always had a cause and effect, however this was greater than we've seen previously.”  
“The woman who'd been singing all those times, her name is Ocán. She was... kidnapped and forced into servitude. The lord of the castle had her group killed so he could have her as a trophy, I guess that's the right term.” He paused. “I think she's important to learning why the mother virus is here. She caused it, but I don't think she's the one killing people.”  
“Who do you think is?” Wesker asked slowly.  
“I think it's the lord. The one who kidnapped her. Something happened.”  
“That's apparent. But the real question is how do you think you're seeing this? Do you believe you're communicating with the dead?”  
“I have no idea. I should be because of how old they are, but I'm not getting the whole... dead vibe from it.”  
Wesker's expression remained indistinguishable but Leon was fairly sure he saw his mouth pull into a firm line.  
“Well since neither of us are accustomed to conversing with the deceased nor know how to.. identify the 'dead vibe', I feel like we've found more questions than answers.”  
“She'd travelled a lot beforehand. You said that the virus could only be found in a particular region in Africa right? How did it get to Austria?”  
“The plant itself cannot survive outside of the grove that it grows.” Excella added. “If it was brought here then it means they knew how to keep the plant alive or how to preserve the virus.”  
“What would she have been doing with it?”  
“It is possible that the properties of the plant weren't entirely known to those that cultivated it, it may have had an effect that was desired. They could have recognised it for medicine as we are trying to use it for.” Wesker leant back on the chair, his brows dipped. “As for a Romani woman to come into possession of it, that's anyone's guess.”  
“I don't even know if she had the mother virus plant. I never saw it.”  
“And yet the stories of an ancient corpse infected with the mother virus are prevalent here. Sometimes conclusions must be drawn until we have evidence to support or challenge it. With everything that's happened we may be onto a winner. Tomorrow we'll return. You will go with the excavation teams and try to dig up what you can about the castle.”  
“I'm on history duty?”  
“This is our only lead and since you're so taken with Ocán, I doubt I can persuade you to do anything else.”  
“You mean she's taken with me.” Leon huffed and rolled onto his back. “It's not my fault she keeps showing up.”  
“We must play with the hand we're dealt.”  
“Until we get the card dealer in our pocket.” Excella hummed, closing the laptop. “As you are awake, you may return to your normal sleeping quarters. Get something from the food tent and get more rest. Doctor's orders, bambino.”  
“Am I to still be supervised?”  
“Naturally, pet.”  


Leon grimaced as he swung his legs out from under the covers. He felt the cold nip at him, unable to tell if it really was as cold as he thought it was. He knew he'd been running a fever for several hours now, but there was no telling when it'd pass. That bemused smirk was back when he glanced at Wesker. He seemed to delight in calling him pet, and yet unsurprisingly didn't know the first thing about how to take care of one. That suited him just fine. It was all just a means to psyche him out anyway, remind him that he was here for the sake of his amusement rather than being of any use. Or at least that's how things probably started.  
He felt himself wobble slightly as he pushed himself up from the gurney, but carried on regardless. What he didn't notice was the hand that shot out ready to catch him. It stopped just before it could touch the small of his back, the way the tyrant had gotten to his feet so quickly and so silently. Excella watched and locked eyes with the man. She didn't say anything, just a brief little nod, enough of a gesture to make the other scowl and follow the dazed agent out of the tent.  
The tyrant was convinced that Excella let Leon leave observation too early, but her advice of buttering him up rang a little too loudly in his ears. Leon responded well to small gestures, how else had Ada kept him wrapped around her finger for so long? It was a role he wasn't used to adapting to, let alone taking up. He only looked out for himself and another. He hadn't done such a thing since his days at STARS and even then that was a long and drawn out game. It wasn't any different, except this time there was the possibility that this haphazard agent could become an ally. Was it that that brought on additional pressure to perform? He was incapable of giving Leon what he needed. Naive as he may have been, he was able to recognise more social cues and subtle gestures better than Chris had been capable of. He absently wondered if things would have been the same if Leon had been part of STARS, would he have seen through him?

 

He was dwelling. Something he didn't have the luxury of right now. Several times Leon had stopped and had to steady himself. He'd almost carried on walking and left him, but each time he stayed and waited for him to be ready to make his way back to their tent. He watched him throughout the night, indulged his attempts at conversation and saw him slowly fall asleep once more. He'd never seen someone sleep so much, not for a while at least. The last time he'd seen it was after he'd been infected with the Progenitor. He'd grown strong, but she'd become weak and sickly. She spent most of her time sleeping and resting. He grimaced. This was nothing alike. This was nothing at all like what had happened to him all those years ago. Leon had only meant to be a message to Ada. A heavy-handed method of punishment for interfering and playing sides against one another. For helping Spencer. He hadn't intended for him to live. Now he was left with this bewildered, anxious and erratic agent he didn't have the first clue about how to deal with. He'd caused it and now he was having to take responsibility; he wouldn't say that perhaps he'd bitten off more than he could chew because that would be admitting defeat, but he was certainly going to try and deal with it out of anything other than pure spite.

 

He watched Leon clamber into his cot. He kicked his boots off and curled up under the covers once more. It almost made him feel exhausted just watching him. But this was the reality of their situation. It could have gone far worse by this point, all things considered. Leon had a habit of ruining plans by simply existing within the same vicinity, but he also had a tendency to fix them too. He just had to hope that he could steer the agent down the right path.

 

 _The mountains followed the carriage like a river, their peaks showing even above the tree line and other times a reminder that a canyon laid between them and the road they were trying to reach. We'd been on the road for what felt like years. The trip from West Africa through Spain was arduous but rewarding. As We'd arrived in France word had it that there was a lord in the remoter areas of Austria looking for some talented performers to live amongst him. We were perfect for the job._  
_For weeks we travelled, trying to locate such a town, but each time we got closer we were met with hushed whispers and those anxious to send us on our way. Such a place couldn't have been so cursed? We knew what misconceptions and prejudices could warp people into. It was foolish and yet we travelled regardless. We may have desired to remain on the road and travel, but somewhere to lay down roots, somewhere we could always come back to was welcomed._  
_How could I have known he would be such a beast of a man. A selfish devil. He fancied himself the new god of the hunt, bastardising the stories. We wondered why no one else had taken up such a generous offer until I watched them all die. I should have been wary of the way his eyes hungrily undressed me. We were nothing more than prey. Trophies. All those who had come before were subjected to the same fate. What kind of man does this? Sees people as_ game _to hunt?_  
_I am the worst trophy of all. My brothers and sisters died at his hands and here I am, a caged bird all for his entertainment. Perhaps once I felt sympathy for his young bride until she too dragged me down with her in her desperation. My mother had warned me about using the gift. I should have studied it further._

 

Leon blinked. The castle? He stiffened as he looked around. The torches were lit, blazing brightly. There was no blue glow to be seen. He breathed a sigh of relief. To his left he saw Ocán. She was hunched over herself, feet pulled up on the bed, her face buried into her knees. He wanted to go to her side. To ask her so many questions. No sooner had he realised where he was did he feel himself being pulled away. He couldn't see himself. He was just drifting through the castle, guided by something unseen. He recognised the corridors, they looked as well kept as they normally did. The deeper he went the stranger the light became. It was an odd purplish hue, the flames in the braziers didn't look natural. He didn't know whether to be settled or to ready himself for more horrors.  
He came face to face with the door that was locked. The deer head was on the floor and the suits of armour either side organised heaps. He felt his heart in his throat. He wished he could wake up, trying to force his eyes open, but all he could muster was blinking in the dream. Over his shoulder he caught a glimpse of Ocán, she couldn't look at him. Then she was in front of him and passed through the doors. He followed suit. He wanted to grab the doors, hold himself in place, they'd have to take him kicking and screaming, but this wasn't his decision. He was lead through a corridor to a dining room. He saw the Lord of the house sat at the end of the table and raise a glass of wine to them. At his side was a waif of a woman, staring at the plate in front of her. Her hair blocked any view of her features. There was a deep sadness about the room and his stomach knotted. Ocán sat opposite the Lord, her mouth pressed into a firm line. Leon however continued on past the fireplace and to the corridor to the left. In front of him was a painting of the Lord of the castle. It was made to look more complimentary of him. Any blemishes or age spots he had were strategically not there. Or perhaps it was from his hay days in youth. He felt sick looking at it. A quick glance over his shoulder and the fire was out, the Lord and Lady were gone and so was Ocán. It was just him and the painting. His mouth felt dry. He wanted to run. Had to get away. His blood felt like it was on fire, screaming at him to leave, to wake up, to watch his back, to not look away from the painting. It glowed blue. A hand reached out-

 

He was awoken by falling from the bed. Never was he more thankful for the tent having a floor given how muddy it had been during the day. Didn't stop it from hurting. He was tangled up in the duvet and felt like he was on fire. He flailed and tried to shout but found himself unable to make a noise. He was too hot.  
He struggled, knocking the side table and the chair at his bedside. The duvet flapped uselessly, only serving to tangle him further. He didn't like the idea of throwing up on his covers but if he wasn't careful that's what would happen.  
He had to feel the cold air. He couldn't take it. He felt himself gag as he pulled his arm free, finally able to wrestle his way out of the duvet. He ripped his t-shirt off, gasping at the tingle the cold air brought to his skin. It settled him somewhat but it wasn't enough. Outside there was a rumble. The rain still pouring. A storm? How befitting. He managed to free his legs and kicked off his sweat pants, relishing in the cold of the floor. He could feel himself sweating and was only confirmed when he could feel the plastic peeling away from his skin.  
“Pet what-” Wesker leant up and watched the agent shaking on the floor. That sickly pale hue chasing all semblance of colour from him. “Leon?”  
“Too hot.” He choked, curling around himself. “I- don't feel good.”  
“You don't look it.” Silently Wesker slipped from his own bed and crouched by the agent. “Excella should have kept you in observation..”  
“He lured them to the castle. We can't go through those doors. It has to stay locked. Has to stay locked.”  
“Shh.” The tyrant reached for the side table and handed him a water bottle. “Get some fluids in you. Tell me once this has passed.”  
Silently Leon complied, gulping as much water as he could. His veins didn't register the chill until he was over half way through the bottle. Whilst he drank, Wesker picked him up and set him on his bed. It was simple, a small touch on his upper arm, crouched in front of him. He melted under his touch.

Perhaps Excella was right. It'd be far easier than he realised to get him into his grasp.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's a harder way and it's come to claim her  
> And I always say, we should be together  
> And I can see below, 'cause there's something in here  
> And if you are gone, I will not belong here (belong, belong, belong)
> 
> And I started to hear it again  
> But this time it wasn't the end  
> And the room is so quiet, oh oh oh oh
> 
> And my heart is a hollow plain  
> For the devil to dance again  
> And the room is too quiet, oh oh oh oh"  
> Florence + the Machine - Breath of Life  
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	7. Commands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Virus is furthering its effects on Leon and Wesker realises some implications of new found power over the agent. Naturally, some testing must be done, although it doesn't quite go according to plan. Their stark differences as people become highlighted, showing Wesker exactly how resilient the agent actually is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've have called you children  
> I have called you son  
> What is there to answer  
> If I'm the only one  
> Morning comes in Paradise  
> Morning comes in light  
> Still I must obey  
> Still I must invite  
> If there's anything say  
> If there's anything to do  
> I there's any other way  
> I'd do anything for you"

Though the agent allowed Wesker's hand to linger for a moment he pulled away sharply, but his brows were dipped a look of silent apology as he trembled.  
“Sorry. Your hand's too hot.” He exhaled.  
He hadn't seen such a reaction since Spencer had first administered the Progenitor virus to the others. Only himself and another had survived. But it'd left her so frail and him abnormally strong. Was it possible that this was the reaction his body was having to the virus or was it simply exacerbating an unknown existing condition? He was the colour of off porridge, his skin almost waxy in texture. The sweat on his brow made his hair stick to his forehead.  
The Tyrant got to his feet and began rummaging in the small shelving unit. He recalled leaving a thermometer in there from the night he'd woken up and believed the area to be causing a detrimental effect on his own infections, the less said about that encounter the better. By the time he'd found it he looked back to the agent. Who was now not where he'd left him. He'd barely heard him get up, especially given how weak he'd been he doubted he'd have been able to stand unassisted. Wesker's eyes narrowed as he rushed to open the tent door.  
  


There he stood. The rain pouring around him looked like small glinting gems as the camp's flood light captured them in its beam. The fact that he could see his breath misting in front of him seemed meaningless. The way his skin pricked and rose as the hairs stood on end. It was like staring at a statue, the way he didn't move or shift. He was a mess at the very least. The ground now thick with mud and he'd gone walking around out there barefoot. The bottoms of his sweat pants had dragged through it too, the way they were just a little too long for his legs and were now equally caked in the dirt and damp.  
“Pet.” He tried to maintain an authoritative tone, but there was no way to mistake the way the word that tumbled out of his mouth gradually rose like he was asking a question. _You're going into this blind. There's every possibility that you've made him strong enough to destroy you with little effort on his part._  
Wesker slipped his feet into his boots and stepped out into the downpour. It didn't bother him much, he usually ran warm thanks to the concoction running through his veins, what was making him unnerved was getting close to him. He'd rather not have to have the militia put multiple holes in the agent because he lost control. Whether Leon was bothered by his presence let alone aware of it was beyond him. It didn't seem to matter what he did, the agent didn't reply. But the closer he got the more he noticed his left arm shaking. A vein bulged as his fist clenched and shifted. When he finally looked at his face, he was still pale, the bags under his eyes still as vibrant, but his eyes were hooded, just about open, but they looked dark. Unresponsive to the light like they had been in the castle.  
“Pet. Respond.”

Leon didn't reply, but his body language shifted, his shoulders sagged slowly and the light trembling had turned into outright shudders. His hands clasped at his upper arms and rubbed frantically. The vein in his left arm that had stuck out like a cord of rope disappeared and with it the uncontrollable shaking, though now he couldn't tell if it was because of his shivering rather than whatever was happening. His eyes flickered open and Wesker got just long enough to see his pupils go from the feline slits that he possessed back into a dot. He swallowed thickly and shook his head. The colour of his eyes hadn't changed. When Wesker had become infected with the T-virus his had gone a deep golden colour. Odd indeed.  
“I'm cold.” He almost laughed. He'd responded to his command, but he seemed completely oblivious to it.  
“Do you still feel too hot?”  
“I don't feel like I'm gonna imitate a sea-cucumber if that's what you mean.” He hissed as he inhaled through his gritted teeth and continued frantically rubbing at his upper arms. “Shit- I felt like that was never going to pass.”  
“Do you recall leaving the tent?” Wesker cocked his head slightly.  
“Things got hazy again. It was like you were moving so slowly and I've never seen you move slowly. I knew you were frantic, I could... smell it, I think? But I remembered that it was raining and that it was cold out. Didn't matter I'd get dirty, I just had to cool down.”  
“Did you not hear me before?”  
“I think I zoned out. I was a little more focused on cooling off. I mean couldn't have been that important, you're not yelling at me.” Zoned out was putting it lightly.

 

Wesker was now faced with the decision to tell Leon exactly what had happened. But instead, he opted to keep it to himself. He simply rolled his eyes, aware that he'd been speaking to Leon before without the shield that was his shades. He'd shown him perhaps too much.  
“Yes, well, you did manage to cause some concern there. Clean off and then return to sleep.”  
“Did I wake you?” There was a slight grimace as he regarded the Tyrant.  
“I don't require sleep like you do. Only a few hours a night is necessary.”  
“I'd say I'm jealous, but I actually enjoy sleep.” _When I'm not getting woken up by nightmares._  
“Then you'd best be quick so you can get a sufficient amount for tomorrow's excursion.”  
Leon gave a quick nod, his breath billowing in front of him as he folded on himself for warmth. Wesker stepped aside and let the agent enter the tent ahead of him. He kicked off his sweatpants and proceeded to pour out a bottle of water over his feet as he scrubbed what he could of the mud from between his toes. He didn't seem to mind Wesker's watchful gaze on him. But it was hard to not notice how the colour had bloomed back into his features again. His cheeks and nose pink with the cold.  
He responded to a command. Whether it was a direct correlation or not, he couldn't ignore that Leon snapped out of whatever trance he was in when he spoke to him.  
He picked up the journal he'd left on his desk and began writing.  
  


The following morning, Leon once again didn't look as though he'd suffered during the night. He was spry and especially alert. Excella checked in briefly and was astounded by the progress he'd made in such a short period of time. She listened to Leon explaining what had happened to him and every so often cast a gaze over to Wesker, her brow arching as if to silently verify this. What especially caught her interest was how he said that he was sure Wesker had been moving slowly. She didn't voice it but it seemed a mutual assumption that he either going incredibly fast or he'd slipped into one of his trances. But there was no apparent significance to said trance. There was no mention of lights like normal.  
“You were in the middle of a dream before it was interrupted you say?”  
“No, well.. it felt like it was. It was like Ocán was telling me what happened to her, but I then saw more of the castle. It was like she was, like someone hijacked my dream. Maybe I woke up too early and my body didn't like it. Something about not waking up a sleep walker?”  
“That's fictitious, there's nothing wrong with waking a sleep walker. Purely superstition.” Excella purred adjusting notes. “In that case I'm going to finally get to do what I've wanted to since you mentioned your visions.”  
“Hallucinations.” Wesker interrupted with a long suffering drone tone that could only come from someone who dreaded the next few words that would saunter oh so contentedly from her mouth.  
“You get to keep a dream journal~” She lilted and shoved a leather bound journal into Leon's hands. “Doesn't matter what you remember, what you don't, or when you write in it. Just keep a note. They may not have anything to do with this place, but there's too much we don't know yet.”  
“Don't mind Miss Gionne's pseudo-scientific ramblings. You aren't obliged to.”  
“No, I'm with her on this one.” Leon deadpanned. “You may not want to put much on this but you're not the one having to go through it. I'd like to think there's some reason for my constant weird dreams. I mean unless your virus has just made me loopy, congratulations in that case, you've made a useless one.”  
“We shall see, Kennedy.” Wesker's lips peeled back into something of a snarl. There wasn't any real threat in it, more a grand lack of enthusiasm and shared amusement for Excella and Leon's theory.

 

As it stood, there was very little it seemed of the castle they could currently explore whilst Wesker was humouring Leon's wish to not open the locked door. But as it had been peaceful, he allowed the militia to enter again supervising the excavation teams. However, they wouldn't be joining them. Instead Wesker laid out a map of the area on the briefing table and coaxed Leon closer to have a look at it.  
“..What am I looking for on here?”  
“What do you see?” Wesker raised his brow, glancing between Leon and the map.  
There was a great deal of things that Leon could see on the map. For one just how long the forest actually went on for. He could tell from the peak lines that the canyon behind the castle was probably from an earthquake thousands of years ago, or was an undersea trench. The map itself wasn't especially detailed, but there were notes that had been jotted around in various spots that weren't in English. He didn't know many minor European languages, though he'd managed to survive with Spanish, French and a little German. The Spanish had definitely helped when dealing with Los Illuminados, especially as they thought he didn't understand him. Casually butchering the language and mispronouncing things often helped create the illusion of a lack of understanding.  
Though, back to the map he couldn't place the actual words. He assumed it was Germanic of some sort because hey, Austria. Though he was however completely unable to decipher the newer additions to the map. The ink looked much fresher and Leon wondered if they'd been done within the last week.  
“I see a lot of notes I don't understand. There's a big blank patch in the middle of the woods that's got a lot of notes around it.”  
“Excella stretched her socialising muscles the other week and spoke to some of the locals.” Wesker's finger traced a line that showed the road to the village. “They speak Hungarian around here, which is very odd as it's not a well known language even now. They mentioned that in this area here,” he shifted and pointed to the empty patch in the woods, “is the ruins of an old village. The locals were hesitant to speak about it, but they said it had ties to the castle centuries ago. But because of an unknown incident that occurred it's been abandoned ever since.”  
“Well of course that doesn't sound entirely ominous.” Leon sighed. “And of course, we're going to go and check it out?”  
“You're so fascinated with finding out the castle's history, think of this as indulging that curiosity.” There was an almost unpleasant smile gracing the tyrant's features as he patted Leon on the back. However it wasn't entirely the truth, not that that wasn't apparent. If Wesker truly could get Leon to obey his every command without using the viral hive mind to assume control he needed to test it. A Virus that maintained individuality and control with allowed total control. It'd be easy to exploit and thus catch those who desired such control red handed.  
“I guess you can understand I'm not too thrilled at the prospect?”  
“Pet, the village has been abandoned for centuries. By now it's probably a pleasant glade that's gone long untouched by people and civilisation. If anything it'll be a trip away from the castle for you.”  
The agent's brows dipped as he considered it. Wandering the forest with Wesker. Part of him was wondering if he could expect a bullet in the back of the head after all the trouble he'd been giving them, the other part found it oddly informal. However this was also said whilst Wesker strapped his holsters on and equipped himself.  
“Thought you said it'd been untouched?”  
“That's no excuse to go in unprepared.”

 

Despite the heavy rain the night before, the sky was clear. The trees still dripped the accumulated moisture as the breeze shook the branches. It was pleasant but because of any lack of cloud coverage it was colder than being in the walls of the castle. For the first time in a while Leon had found himself willing to keep his jacket on and huddle closely into the collar. He absently wondered if there'd be winter provisions available closer to the season. Maybe a nice tactical scarf, thermal gloves... thermals in general. His pace was oddly enough faster than Wesker's leisurely stroll. For once there wasn't any rush on their movements. It made him feel on edge more than wandering the castle. Why wouldn't there be a rush to scope the area and return to camp with their findings? It was all so informal. Still he didn't exactly deny that he was enjoying the scenery. Even in the late autumn he could still see snow on the top of the mountains surrounding the region. The water of the rivers were so clear they perfectly reflected the sky above them. There were several small outhouses or remnants of buildings that had long been abandoned, all caked in moss and being thoroughly reclaimed by nature. Sure, the windows were non-existent, assumedly smashed at one point by rowdy kids, but the glass and lead was long gone from them leaving Leon with only assumptions about their whereabouts. He didn't particularly want to admit that he was enjoying himself. Compared to his wanderings for the past few weeks this was idyllic.  
The further up the river they travelled the closer they reached so an old abandoned mill. The river flowed over several large slabs of slate that jutted out randomly. The wood was clearly rotted on the building and the water wheel was probably barely hanging on. It creaked with the flow of the water breaking the relaxing ambience the forest had previously. Leon grimaced. Logic dictated that there was probably no one there, but there was a paranoia that something would jump out.  
“Recon the building, Kennedy.” Wesker simply asked as he stepped past.

 

It was a loaded question, but Leon found himself drifting towards the door that hung off its hinges. Wesker watched in awe as he simply complied, but it wasn't enough to completely verify his theory. Leon was docile today and arguably in an amicable mood. He was the obedient sort anyway, so there was nothing to say that he didn't do it simply out of an altruistic sense. Although he was fairly sure there would normally be more arguments from him.  
The agent switched his flashlight on and pointed the beam around the entrance. There were breaks in the floorboards where grass and plants were now growing freely. The stairs were somewhat intact leading to the upper floor, although he wasn't entirely sure he trusted it to take his weight. Especially since some of the brickwork had crumbled to make little pock marks that let tiny beams of light through. Perhaps if he'd been here in the middle of the night he'd have felt more unnerved but he found it oddly comforting. So he stepped over the threshold and went inside.

As expected there wasn't anything lingering in the cupboards, any furniture or furnishings had long since been looted or crumbled with age. It wasn't hard to imagine a family living in there. The father tending to the water wheel whilst his wife made dinner filling the house with the smell of food. Urgh, _food_. He knew he'd eaten not long ago, probably barely an hour but already he felt like he was chomping at the bit. At least he'd had the sense to load up his pockets with oat and nut bars when Wesker hadn't been looking. So he fished one from his pocket and wandered towards the stairs.  
_Psyche yourself up for this. Worst that'll happen is your foot goes through the board or it crumbles under your feet. Ah hell, it's only one story, if you fall you'll be fine. You've had way worse._  
He took a bite out of the bar, though there was now barely half of it left. He sniffed and finished his mouthful before pocketing the remainder and wandering up the stairs. The first step creaked loudly as he slowly put all his weight on it, but despite the wood complaining, it held him.  
“Huh. Alright, so far so good.” He didn't want to admit that from then on he practically leapt up the stairs in a near sprint going two steps at a time but the mental image of the stairs crumbling was nagging far too much. He also didn't groan the entire time in dread.

The upper floor was much less barren by comparison, although it was plagued with creeping ivy and other plants that'd snuck their way into the building. Even if it was late in autumn he could still smell the blossoms or perhaps he hadn't been outside of a city for so long that the smell of woodlands and forests seemed completely alien to him. It was funny how that happened. When he was growing up and his parents were still alive they used to go into the woods every Sunday. He made a mental note that if he got out of this alive he'd make more of an effort to go hiking.  
The thought was tucked away when he found a small book lingering in one of the bedrooms. The book itself was almost completely ruined by the elements and just about legible, but he'd be damned if he could actually read it. Despite this he absently flicked through the pages the writing got less neat as it progressed and a chill prickled down his spine.  
“We are the last ones left. But soon like everyone else he shall come for us.” Wesker's voice boomed behind him.

In a split second Leon spun around and flung himself away only to throw the book straight at the Tyrant. His eyes widened as he realised exactly what he'd done. Not that it made a difference, Wesker swatted the offending item away with little effort on his part.  
“Fuck- shit-” Leon doubled over himself, crouched down on his haunches as he caught his breath. “I didn't even hear you come up the stairs- fuck what if I'd shot you?”  
“It wouldn't make a difference.” The Tyrant shrugged. “You were taking too long, I came to check up on you.”  
“Yeah?” He exhaled, lifting himself up with support of the desk. “the fuck were you doing?”  
“There was a small shed just a little way away. I went to inspect it.”  
“And?”  
“Nothing of use.” Leon gave a huff and shook his head. So much for Wesker learning some basic decency. “Come on, we've still got to reach the village before sundown, Pet.”  
“Again with the 'Pet'. I'm not your damn pet.” His brows dipped as he slipped out of the room. “Or do you just get off on that sort of thing? Sure whatever floats your boat but leave me out of it.”

 

Perhaps the commands needed to be simpler, or the conditions were incorrect. He only directly obeyed last night when he was stuck in a hallucination like state. However it was the first he'd complained of his nickname in a while. Still, it was early in the day, there was plenty of time to gather more information and data.

 

It didn't take long for the path to become overgrown the deeper they travelled. However the tree line hadn't advanced closer, simply curved slightly over to create a small canopy like effect with their branches and leaves. The mud squelched under foot, the bracken that had thrived there now trampled under their feet as they followed the route close to the village. Even if neither especially spoke much beyond simple observations and questions about possibilities as to why the locals didn't dare visit the area they both seemed to silently acknowledge that the woods were oddly quiet here. Once at the river there had been bird song combined with the trickling of the river and the trees creaking in the wind but now all there was was the deafening noise of leaves being crushed under foot.  
“Aren't there supposed to be birds here? Or you know, any other wildlife?” Leon muttered as he devoured the last section of the oat bar. He could hear his jaw creaking as he chewed, everything felt so loud compared to the silence that surrounded them. Finally he was met with that familiar creeping dread that was only reserved for whenever he was in the castle. His back felt like tiny pins were running up and down it, lingering at the nape of his neck where the breeze could roll down his collar.  
“Nature has a tendency to avoid area where disasters have occurred. Like Chernobyl, the birds don't fly over the area.”  
“I'm pretty sure that they didn't have a nuclear fallout here.” He paused. “Unless you're gonna tell me that that's actually what happened.”  
Wesker gave a small muted huff and shook his head. “They did in fact not have a nuclear fallout. But there are whispers of monsters that roam the area.”  
“Now he tells me.” Leon rolled his eyes. “What kind of monsters?”  
“The locals didn't say, but it's just a long standing story that hasn't been forgotten. It's been reinforced by those who travel too far up river with dogs and never return to the village.”  
“And you didn't think to mention this _earlier_?”  
“And listen to you complain the whole time? I think not.”

 

Wesker's pace picked up as his strides became bigger, although that may have come down to how thick the mud was getting. It was almost like stomping through a marshland. But the tyrant was determined and wasn't about to be deterred.  
“If you'd said we'd be taking out 'monsters' for the locals I might have actually agreed to help you out on this one, you do realise that, right?” Leon followed after Wesker, using his foot prints to make an easier path for him. Not that stomping around in mud didn't sound fun in a childish sort of way, but the way Wesker was beelining he couldn't afford to get stuck. “You don't have to wrap everything up in false pretences. At this point I think I'm more than just a little stuck here.”  
“And have you run off again like a petulant child when you hear something you don't like?”  
“Where have I got to go?” Leon gestured to the wilderness that surrounded them. “I don't know how to reach the inhabited village from here, I can't speak Austro-Bavarian or Germanic, let alone Hungarian so I'd be tracked down before I managed to get a stone's throw away. What's the point?”  
“Learned helplessness doesn't suit you, pet.”  
“You _want_ me to run away? I don't _get you_. One minute you're telling me to trust your plans and then the next you're almost trying to goad me into fighting you. Which one is it you want? Or are you just bored?”  
“You challenge my expectations, Kennedy.” He finally replied after a pause. “When I think you'll battle me you follow my lead and when I think you'll follow my lead you challenge me.”  
“Guess that just means you still have a while to go before you get me as a person.” Leon shook his head. “Besides, I'd rather not be the white person in a horror movie, thanks.”  
“What?”  
“Horror movie. House or place is abandoned or haunted and they're like it's clearly dangerous I'm totally going to go check this out because shiggles. It's literally only ever the white people.” _And the non white people usually die first for their arrogance._  
“Kennedy, life doesn't adhere to what boils down to nothing more than tropes in films. Besides, isn't it your job to be sent into dangerous situations?”  
“Doesn't mean I'm not gonna exercise some god damn caution.” He didn't notice when they'd started speaking barely above harsh whispers or when he'd gotten so close to the back of Wesker, but the closer they got to the dilapidated building ahead of them the more that dread dug its claws in and squeezed. “Besides, it doesn't even take a single generation for animals to learn to not go near a place that'll fuck them up.”  
“You're unnecessarily on edge.”  
“No, I think I'm just the right amount all things considered. You remember what happens when you doubt my bad feelings? We become the dumb white people in horror movies.”  
Wesker simply rolled his eyes as they reached the doors to the chapel. It seemed superfluous to use them given that a large section had been eroded away by the passage of time, but he found himself compelled to use them regardless.  
“Pet, stay close to me.” He murmured as he gently pushed the door open.

 

If this were a normal ruin, he might have expected to have seen flocks of birds scatter at the interruption. Instead all it did was disturb a branch that'd grown in through the roof. The stained glass was vaguely intact in places, though only reserved to red, blue and yellow hues. Leon blinked several times, partially convinced that there were lit candles. There weren't. Naturally. But it gave him enough of a hint that this place held significance in correlation to the castle. The crucifix that had been mounted on the back wall had been torn down, the wood splintered with slashes that resembled those from the theatre. Leon's blood ran cold. The oat bar he'd eaten was now threatening to make a reappearance. He didn't want to be here now. Whatever had been nice about this trip out was now long forgotten, it was another situation he'd been thrust into to sate Wesker's curiosity, or hell further a goal he had no interest of letting him in on.  
  


Outside of the chapel there was a crash. Ringing out through the silence of the woodlands came barking. Lots of barking. It wasn't just one dog, there were multiple. One of them was whimpering. Leon's mouth grew dry and out of the corner of Wesker's eye he noticed his left hand twitching as it had done the night before. Before he could say anything Leon rushed to the crumbled wall to get a better look. His gun was drawn. He hadn't even breathed an order, but unsurprisingly Leon had his own ideas. He debated repeating the order, just to see how he would react. He knew better however. He joined the agent and cast a wary glance out into the village.  
Lo and behold, a pack of dogs was being chased by seemingly nothing. But he couldn't deny the way the ground indented with footprints. The minute they ran into direct light, the footsteps stopped. The tremors ceased, but it only served to urge whatever it was to destroy more of the ruins. It couldn't move. He looked to the agent, who looked utterly entranced. His pupils were blown, recoiling as the creature made its impact. Given how bright it was, Leon's pupils shouldn't have been so large. He was seeing things again.  
  
He knew that the agent would want to interfere, but the grip he placed on his shoulder wouldn't allow him to move even if he tried. And try he did. He felt him squirm like an eel under his grip, desperately trying to trash out of his grip. He didn't utter a word though and that was all he needed to know that once again he'd slipped into another of his states. Wesker had expected him to shout at him, to plead to save those dogs from their fate. If it labelled him as cold and heartless, then so be it. They were wading into unknown territory and faced with _something_. That something was renowned for killing locals and whilst they were civilians, if it scared animals away from the area there was no doubting the nature of the beast.  
Before the agent could cry out, his hand drew over his mouth. Arms wrapping around him and pulling him back into the cover of the wall. Overhead the clouds had begun to settle, casting a shadow over the area. The sounds of carnage were familiar. Once you heard and saw a merciless slaughter the echoes stayed with you for eternity. There was no mistaking those pained howls and whimpers. Flesh was torn and guts were spilt. There was no mistaking the sound of a jaw being torn open further than it should have been. There was little he could offer in the way of comfort to the agent that shook helplessly in his arms. The way his teeth were gritted as he sharply drew breath and exhaled with unmitigated rage. The shaking in his arm hadn't stopped, but its motions were less violent. Instead he sought solace in his own way by grappling with the Tyrant's unrelenting arms. His hands dug into the impenetrable flesh, holding onto him as a means to channel his rage and to anchor him to the moment.

 

There was nothing they could do.

 

Wesker felt as though he'd been holding his breath for hours when the creature finally left. The heavy footsteps rumbled as it shook the ground, gradually getting quieter and quieter as the distance between them grew. He knew the agent had wanted to step in. A soft-touch for animals. He'd read in the report submitted by Ada about the dog he'd helped in the woods at Pueblo. It was the small acts of kindness that spoke volumes of the weakness of one's heart. Watching animals be tormented or killed wasn't something that sat right with Leon. Ironic how people would watch unrivalled acts of cruelty inflicted upon others but when it came to animals they suddenly found a scrap of integrity... Although such a judgement wasn't fair to be passed on the agent. He cared deeply for many things. And his bleeding heart was the weapon he wielded against the injustices of the world. And what a weapon it had proved to be.

“There was nothing-”  
“Shut up.” The agent bit. Despite the sharpness in his words he retained his grip upon Wesker's arms. “You don't know that.”  
“We don't know what it was. There was no sense in putting yourself in danger for a pack of wild dogs.”  
“I know exactly what it was. It was _him_.”  
“And what would you have done?” He unwrapped his arms from the agent and spun him to face him. Hands clenched at Leon's shoulders, staring at him from over the rim of his shades. “Rushed out into there and gone out guns blazing? Your anger wouldn't have been any help. Could haves and would haves don't account for the reality of the situation. You actively avoid _him_ in the castle, now you're not there you want to attack him?” His response was lost amidst his clenched jaw and attempts to keep himself in check. “Come now, you don't really think you could have stopped him?”  
“I don't know.” The agent bit back, “but I can't stand idly whilst someone else dies so I can stay safe. That's not who I am.”  
“They were dogs, Kennedy.”  
“So that means they're less than us? That they deserved to suffer so we could live?”  
“You eat meat don't you? You must know the way the industry works-”  
“Why do you always do this?” Despite the Tyrant's firm grip, Leon tried to wrestle free. “Whenever I have a moral stance that doesn't fit with you you have to keep digging? Yes, I'm upset that we let those animals die because you wanted to use them as cover for us. There's nothing else to it. I've faced danger before and come out the other side, I'm not a damn rookie even if we don't know what we're dealing with, we could have done this in a way that didn't require their deaths. People and animals may be nothing more than pawns to you because you're so damn far up your fucking ivory tower an above everyone else, but I'm not. I'm not like that and I'm not okay with that. Those dogs didn't _need_ to die.”  
  


Wesker's jaw set, letting his grip on the other drop. He wanted to presume that there was more to this than simply what Leon was saying, but there was something he couldn't grasp. He knew people placed importance on mundane and inane objects, creatures, happenings but such habits weren't allowed to grow or take root in him. He knew that it was reasonable to assume that if they had aided the dogs then there was a possibility of death or severe injuries. Leon had no connection to the dogs and yet here he was acting as though his family pet had been killed in front of him.  
“I took no pleasure in that, Kennedy.”  
“Yeah. Like you take pleasure in anything.” Leon barged past him, making sure to slam his shoulder into him. It didn't especially make the tyrant budge, if anything it would have just given Leon a sore shoulder, but the intent was loud and clear. “We're not all fucking machines that don't feel anything.”  
“You're upset and you're lashing out at me. Fine. But do not pertain to know about how I feel.”  
“Don't- Just-- I don't want to hear it.” Wesker didn't draw attention to, but instead simply made note of the small sniff he heard from the agent as he walked away. “Let's just get what we came here for.”  
  


Leon tried his best to not look at the dogs as he walked around the patch of carnage. He dipped into the ruins of buildings and grabbed whatever looked intact or useful. In one of the larger buildings he found another journal. Unlike the book they found in the mill it was much larger and looked a great deal more important. It was buckled shut tight and thanks to the compression and being kept in a cabinet it remained mostly intact. He absently flicked through the pages, catching words here and there but not understanding any of it. It was in Hungarian, he assumed. He couldn't really tell the difference, but could tell that whoever wrote in it practised calligraphy.  
  
There was a great deal he wanted to do. He wanted to shout at Wesker. Throw as many things as he could possibly get his hands on at his stupid smug face. What, did he think he was above everyone and everything? Did he really think that he was better and therefore got to play god? Of course he did. Everything he was doing was all so he could dish out his own version of justice. Lord knew how many people he was going to drag down all for the sake of his revenge. And here he was. Caught in the middle of it now, forced to go along with it or else die. He should have just rolled over and accepted death. He never should have let it get this far. But his life was inconsequential. In the grand scheme of things, he could tear down the operation from the inside, save more people if he kept going. Or perhaps it presented him with a more troubling battle he'd been struggling with in his head since Raccoon.  
  


Lay down and die. It was always an option that presented itself, and soon he was realising that when faced with situations that meant either life or death, despite dabbling with the idea of accepting death, he always fought to live. Even after everything he went through in Pueblo. All those he cared dying in front of him, some he had to kill with his own hands... the promise of being able to be with them if he closed his eyes and welcomed the eternal embrace was always there, but selfishly he fought on. He'd thought he'd wanted to die. Always wondered if really he was scared of the prospect of death, uncaring as to whether he lived or died when sent on a mission as long as he did what he could.

 

It shouldn't have been such a terrible realisation. It shouldn't have weighed so heavily on his shoulders. The ridiculous things he'd told himself to try and explain why he was the cockroach of Raccoon city and every other biohazard. He could tell himself that if he carried on he would be the one that kept the wishes of those who'd died alive, that if needs be he'd scrap his personality a thousand times over if it meant that he could carry on for them. It was a saccharine sentiment, but ultimately hollow if he wasn't doing much more than just surviving day after day. Surviving for their sakes. He laughed at himself and shook. He knew they'd want him to keep on keeping on. That he was meant for nothing more. Even if he wasn't meant for anything and his wish was selfish, he'd keep going. Because he wanted to. There was still so much he wanted to fix. Still so many things he wanted to do, to see, truths to get out. Nothing was more overwhelming than the realisation that the will to live hadn't died all those years ago or even back in Pueblo, even if parts of himself died he still continued to shed those parts and adapt and move on.  
All he was doing right now was mourning the passing of another part of himself.  
  


He could pretend that he'd be able to be anything like Wesker, to be cold. He could pretend. He could wear the necessary masks and push himself further because he knew once was all said and done he could take it off and let the pain shed itself. Bits and pieces may have been lost, but he still knew who he was and his goals. His goals hadn't changed. They'd just been broadened and suspicions had been confirmed. Wesker was using him, that was fine. He could use him right back too. That's all this was after all, a game of who could push who the furthest in order to reach their goals. Their goals somewhat aligned messily for the moment. It wouldn't last. There'd be a line that Wesker would step over and he wouldn't be able to forgive him. The dogs were just the beginning.

 

“Have you done quite enough soul searching?” His voice though smooth still sounded like nails down a chalk board.  
Despite his mental battle he was waging all he wanted to do was curl up under the desk and sleep until everything passed. He didn't have the energy. Leon swallowed thickly and got to his feet. The ground wasn't especially dry where he'd been sat, but it wasn't pure mud. Just wet grass. He didn't look at the other and just presented him the book.  
“Might be something. Even if it's not, Henderson'll appreciate it.” His tone was dry and flat.  
  
Wesker's brow rose, noting how the agent hadn't acknowledged his statement. He found himself almost resentful of him. No matter how much he seemed to get hurt by such simple things, it didn't take him long to bounce back. The dreams were a minor indicator of that. How despite his fits, vomiting and terrifyingly nightmarish hallucinations he could still face everything with an almost unshakable optimism. It was sickening, but purely from an uglier sense of jealousy he was faced with. He may have been sulking at him now, but he knew in a couple of hours he'd be returning to the tent with a book and asking questions about excursions and the men. The dreams that he couldn't stand. The dreams that had stopped him from sleeping for longer than a handful of hours every night.  
  
“...I apologise.” It took more effort to say than he would willingly admit. And the look of confused disgust that Leon shot him had him instantly regretting even opening his mouth. “You are right. I am ill-equipped to deal with such things. In order to survive in my world, what you might call pity is considered weakness. Such things were a privilege we weren't allowed access to. It was what Spencer conditioned in us. But I won't allow for you to call me a machine simply because I value your well-being over a pack of dogs.”  
Leon gave a dismissive snort. “You don't value my well-being. You value the virus in me. Naive as you may think I am, I can distinguish. I'm your walking science project holding the answers to your next new product to push to the masses. Don't tell me you value me when you don't.”  
“Can I not value both?”  
“You don't have any reason to. I'm supposed to be your enemy.” The cogs in Leon's mind screeched as he tried to process the words coming out of Wesker's mouth. He didn't believe them. But he was saying it with such an earnest attitude that he could have almost let himself think it true. So much for not being a good actor.  
“As much of a pain as you have been, Kennedy, you have been helpful. Unlike Redfield you bother to ask questions in an attempt to gain a deeper understanding of things that were beyond you. If I had told Christopher what I told you in the castle I can guarantee there would have been a hail of bullets. You came back and deigned to learn. I respect you for making that decision. Even if we don't see eye to eye, we both agree that Simmons cannot be allowed to have that sample of the mother virus.”  
“...That must have taken a lot to say.” Leon finally answered, trying to make light of everything. It was all still too raw, and Wesker had to come in and throw a spanner in the works of his mental processes. It could have been a trick, something part of a bigger plan to get him closer and trusting. But he didn't have anyone else right now. Whilst he'd gone it alone before he knew there were people waiting for him to get back in touch... this time there wasn't.  
“Don't snark, just take the olive branch.”  
“You're not as awful as you make yourself out to be either... Thank you for looking out for me.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “That's not going to get any less weird to say.”  
“Then don't say it.”  
“And miss the opportunity to remind you that you said you respect me? Hah, no chance.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I was dressed in embarrassment  
> I was dressed in white  
> If you had a part of me  
> Will you take your time  
> Even if I come back  
> Even if I die  
> Is there some idea  
> To replace my life
> 
> Like a father to impress  
> Like a mother's morning dress  
> If we ever make a mess  
> I'll do anything for you
> 
> I have called you preacher  
> I have called you son  
> If you have a father  
> Or if you haven't one  
> I'll do anything for you"  
> Sufjan Stevens - For the Widows In Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti  
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	8. Monstrous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon goes for another check up which allows him some alone time with Excella. Curiosity gets the better of him as he starts digging into Excella and Wesker's history together and learns far more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Shadows settle on the place, that you left.  
> Our minds are troubled by the emptiness.  
> Destroy the middle, it's a waste of time.  
> From the perfect start to the finish line.
> 
> And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones.  
> 'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.  
> Setting fire to our insides for fun  
> Collecting names of the lovers that went wrong  
> The lovers that went wrong."

The dream book was more superfluous than anything at this stage. Every morning he'd write down what he could remember of his dreams. Some days it'd been oddly specific but ultimately useless when it came to furthering the excavation. However the night after the trip into the ruined town, Leon had seen visions of fire, villagers screaming and crying whilst a man rode in on horseback. He knew they were speaking a different language but he knew exactly what they were saying. It was the Lord. He'd been asking for sacrifices. From his eagerness to attain the ultimate hunt he'd cleared most of the wildlife from the surrounding region either through killing or they'd fled. Each week they were to leave someone in the woods for him to track down. If they didn't then the demand would go up. If they left the elderly or sick then they'd have to leave another with them.

 

Lo and behold once Henderson and Excella had had time to sit down and go through the book they'd found the stories matched up. Wesker had put forth the concept that as Excella was only a few tents down, there was every possibility that he'd overheard it in his sleep. This didn't stop her from quickly reminding the Tyrant that most of the other dreams listed in the book made sense or were historically accurate.

It didn't take long however for an anomaly to appear within the reaches of the book.

 

Leon's latest check up with Excella had been interrupted by Wesker holding the book with a raised brow.  
“I'm not sure if this is your attempt at being comedic, Kennedy, but I'm not seeing the humour.” There was a hint of annoyance in his tone, the suppression showed in the was his jaw tightened. Leon was also fairly sure that his shoulders were tense from the way he was stood, though it was hard to tell with the suit jacket he was wearing.  
“...No, what?” He blinked, looking between Excella and Wesker. As far as he was aware things were going fairly smoothly. Though, it wouldn't be the first time that Wesker's sensibilities managed to out themselves as being on the somewhat delicate side. “What's the problem?”  
“The latest entry.”  
“...You did say to write down _all_ of my dreams.”  
“Bambino, have you been filthy?” She didn't even bother to hide the amusement from her tone, the smirk said everything.  
“Excella now is not the time for guttural humour.”  
“He has hasn't he?” By that point she sucked on her lips, trying to keep herself from laughing or smiling. It didn't stop the odd noise from slipping out, though.  
“If I had a sex dream I would not be writing it down.” _Like I'm even lucky enough for that these days_.  
“Perhaps in future, I should tell you to write down only dreams that are 'relevant' rather than... whatever this is.”  
“Albert, it can't be _that_ bad.” Excella got to her feet and tried to prize the book from his grip. Watching the two struggle, well to call it a struggle was being generous, it was more Excella struggling against his inhuman grip. “What was it?”  
  
“Well, I just dreamt that we were going to go to the ruined village again, but I couldn't go until I'd gotten one of the HFC uniforms and I had to go to a brown van that was parked further down the road. When I got there the guy said that there weren't any more left in stock. I was getting a bit irritated because I knew we were working against the clock and you wouldn't be happy if I held you up.”  
Leon shrugged glancing between the two of them. Excella gestured for him to continue, “So I asked him where I could get one from and he pointed to the castle. Except it wasn't the castle, it was a mall. I went back in there and there were escalators everywhere, instead of shops it was lots of glass panels everywhere and behind them were the militia guys training, having breakfast, fixing up their guns; whatever. Now I approach one of the escalators and realise all of a sudden I'm basically naked which makes sense because I needed the uniform because there was no way you'd let me charge around in my birthday suit-” Excella choked back laughter, only for Wesker to sigh wearily. “And I'm asking people where in the hell the gear's being stored and everyone's being really unhelpful, but I'm also aware that I can't hold the rail and keep myself covered up, so I'm faced with the dilemma of hold on or leave myself exposed when no one needs to see that.”  
“Did you get the uniform in the end?” Excella encouraged him further.  
“No. I think I ended up having an argument with Henderson who kept trying to get me to use one of the lab coats, but I wasn't going to wear it because otherwise, I'd look like a flasher.”  
  


There was a pause before Wesker pinched the bridge of his nose and gave another sigh.  
“Kennedy, I'm making the rule that unless they are entirely relevant to this mission then you don't write these things down.”  
“Well, actually it sort of is.” Leon shrugged again. “In the end, I was doing something for you and followed your orders to the point I ended up ridiculing myself, how is that _not_ relevant?”  
“Keep your satire for politics.”  
“What can I say? I radiate sarcasm and satire, you're not exempt from that and you should have realised that by now.”  
“Finish your check up and then we make for the village once more.”  
“I am going to have to interrupt you there,” Excella tapped her finger on Wesker's chest “I'm performing tests on whatever's taken a hold of your dear pet's arm. This may take a while and as such he is off duty for today.” He looked as though he was going to interrupt, the slight twitch in his own body as she brazenly put her hands on his upper arms. It was a gentle motion, something that Leon couldn't quite tear his eyes off of. He wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed it beforehand, their dynamic despite explosive sometimes had this... other side of it. “Sorry, mio caro, doctor's orders. You'll be flying solo today, although, perhaps it will soothe your mood.”  
_Mio Caro_?

 

Leon was left in something of a stunned state as Wesker turned on his heel after grumbling something he couldn't quite hear. Mio Caro meant 'my dear' and as much as he knew Wesker and Excella threw around pet names liberally he couldn't help but wonder if he was reading a little too much into the whole thing.  
Especially the way that Wesker didn't let anyone close unless it was on his terms. He knew how to recognise the behaviours of abused children and he knew that habits of survival continued on into adulthood. Wesker didn't trust people. He had no reason to. And yet here was Excella, his right-hand woman, his interpreter for the world. It was entirely possible that he'd grown attached to her because of the emotional labour she provided-- no he had to have been using her, there was no way a man like Wesker would allow himself something like that.

Excella settled herself opposite the agent and lifted his hand again. She pressed into it delicately, soothing her thumbs along his wrist to try and find any bumps or anomalies. Despite everything, her grip wasn't as vicious as it had been after that first inspection. He could almost have called it respectful. Almost.  
“I guess it's not my place to ask, but how in the hell did you get involved with him?” Leon watched her expression, deliberately using a vague term to see if he could wrangle any small tells out of her. But her poker face was well practised. She continued to focus on his arm, barely reacting to his words.

“I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him.” She replied calmly. “He gave me the breakthrough I needed in my research whilst I was at University doing my masters.”  
“What was in it for him?”  
“Funding.” Excella smirked. “Come now Bambino, you know I'm his sugar mama, this isn't news. Tricell funds this entire operation. He scratched my back, I scratch his.”  
“I know that.” Leon paused, his tongue dipped into his back teeth trying to think how to rephrase it. “I mean, what _happened_? Wesker's not known for keeping people around for long.”  
“He can't afford to get rid of me.” There it was. The thing he'd been searching for. The telltale nugget of bitterness threatening to drip from her like putrid venom.

 

He couldn't tell if it was a self-assurance or a defiant tone, to remind all those around her that she was indispensable. There was something buried underneath those layers. The piece of grit that irritated and caused the cruel callousness she was capable of. It wasn't anything groundbreaking. Everyone had their touchy subjects. It was just becoming apparent that the causes of misery for Excella and Wesker connected or at least meshed together in a way that was deemed comfortable.  
“Do you trust me enough now to talk about it?” He tilted his head as he studied her features.

Her face was pulled into a frown, avoiding his earnest gaze. Did these people have anyone that they could lean on other than each other? At least they had that much, but Wesker didn't strike him as being the best shoulder for emotional trauma. “I want to understand. There's... something with you two that you don't talk about.”  
“There's a great deal that we don't talk about.” She laughed. “And you're prying.”  
“I'm gonna cut to the chase. You two are close. Wesker plays his cards even closer, I didn't think that he'd be interested in stuff like that.”  
“It's complicated.” Again with the laugh but it was accompanied by her shaking her head. “What isn't with us? Yes, he helped get me where I was because my family were so adamant I was to take care of my father. I fought tooth and nail to be able to get scholarships and everything else I could do get myself into University. I have a knack for genetic engineering if you hadn't noticed, but mother thought it would be more appropriate to have me sat at a desk being pretty. The pretty gatekeeper for father. Albert was already planning his escape from Spencer long before Raccoon and we crossed paths during an exposition that Umbrella hosted with Tricell. I was working on what was almost identical to the T-Virus in my own way. Viruses can change people's genetic structure to adapt, so what if we made one that would improve their health? It wasn't a new train of thought but I approached it differently. I told Albert of my thesis I was planning on presenting to the board to get my entry but I was missing just a _tiny_ detail. I've never heard him talk as much as he did to me that night.” She couldn't keep the smile spreading to her features. “We ditched the party, neither of us were interested in exchanging pleasantries with the likes of Umbrella staff and shareholders. I took a bottle or two, we met at a meeting room, I had my file and we went through it all. I discussed my theories and he gave me some pointers.”  
“Sounds very intimate.”  
“I suppose.” She leant back, releasing Leon's hand from her grip. “We then met up sporadically after that. I sent him a letter thanking him for getting me into the University. We went from there. Eventually, we went beyond work talk. I showed up to his office one night in a rainstorm. It was all very teenage dramatics.”  
“Wait, how old were you?”  
“I was in my early twenties. Not much younger than he was at the time. My rebellious streak hit much later than many.”  
“So what made you find him?”  
“My mother had tried to get me to leave my studies. Father had a bad turn and I was apparently needed to take care of him. It didn't matter I had siblings, I was the eldest and thus the most responsible. I was also the eldest daughter.” Her brow arched as she folded her arms. “I told Albert about the funding and research they wanted to give Umbrella as a gesture of business partnership. About who they wanted to take my father's place. How could I take over a company and run it without any understanding for the things we did? He questioned my resolve and I demanded that he teach me how to fight.”  
“To fight?”  
“With anything I could. I knew how to fight with words and social etiquette, but you've seen him move. I had to be as powerful, because if I could be like that then what did I have to fear? I could stand my ground and back it up with more than just words.”  
  
“It's... hard to imagine you fighting.”  
“Because of this?” She gestured to the pink suit combo she wore and laughed. “That's the beauty of it. No one expects a woman clad in pink to know how to knock someone out let alone be capable of defending herself. People's sexism allows me to exploit their preconceptions.” She paused again. “Because of that my parents didn't like Albert much, he was acting as encouragement for what I wanted to do. They probably thought he was a bad influence. Ironically Spencer also felt I was a terrible influence on him too.”  
“Why?”  
“Because Spencer wanted to have him make the jump to security from research. His passion was science, not violence. I told him to stand his ground. The more he stood his ground the more he hurt Alex. Albert couldn't stomach it for long-”  
“Alex?”

  
Excella winced. Her composure returned not long after, but the damage was done. “Another of the Wesker children. Everything that Albert is doing, he is doing for her.” _Bad case of the other woman..._ Leon thought to himself as he watched her expression contort. “Before he left for his post with STARS we met once again. He told me that he didn't think he would live beyond it. In all my emotionally charged wisdom we made an agreement. To preserve his bloodline.”  
“Preserve..?”  
“A woman as vicious and intelligent as myself with his 'superior genetics'?” Leon's face blanched as it began to dawn on him. Before he could open his mouth her brows dipped. Her mouth pressed into a firm line. “They took him from me the moment he was born.”  
“They? Your parents?” _Wesker had a son?_  
“They tried to. Thanks to his connections, Albert knew a woman who had emigrated to get health care with Tricell. They were.. on good terms.”  
“Why didn't he have a kid with her?”  
“She was chronically ill. As good as his genetics were he couldn't guarantee the child would have any quality of life.... It was all done in a remote area. Doctors that were loyal to the Weskers rather than Spencer and he paid for their safe passage back to Edonia, her home country... Because of my actions, I was branded a disgrace to the family. I didn't care. I wanted to hurt them. It was my body and my decision and I'd do it all over again. But this time I'd keep him by me. I'd tear anyone who tried to take him from me apart, even if I had to do it with my bare hands.” Tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes, her accent growing thicker. She'd started straight-backed and by the end she'd hunched over herself. Nails digging into her forearms. “I'd destroy everything that got in my way... If it makes me more of a monster then I accept their curses.”

 

He didn't know whether to reach out and touch her. The feared monster that defended Albert Wesker and Tricell, here now in front of him crumpled up and miserable. So much for a check up, he'd managed to thoroughly derail that one.  
“...I'm sorry.” He paused and rubbed the nape of his neck. “Does.. does Wesker know? How you feel I mean?”  
“I might have told him a long time ago.” She groaned and wiped her face on the back of her hand. “But I can't now. There's too much riding on this. My feelings don't matter so long as we achieve our goal. Once we're there I can cry, scream and be miserable all I like.”  
“Why can't you tell him?”  
“He already has to be Alex's pillar. What she goes through thanks to Spencer is enough of a burden. Someone needs to be his and after all he's done for me that's more than fair.”  
“You can't just... It needs to go both ways. You two had a _kid_ together, that's.. I don't know if I'm being naïve about it but there's got to be enough of a bond there to bring that on.”  
“Bambino, we creatures aren't like you.” She laughed bitterly. “We can't afford to be sentimental. It doesn't matter, it's the end goal. When the time is right and it's safe we may be able to retrieve him. But he's on his own. If we help it will lead them right to him and put him in danger.”  
“You can't afford to be sentimental and yet here you are.”  
“A mistake. It'll pass.” She paused and took a breath.

 

Internally she cursed herself. She'd said too much. Far too much. To the point that if Leon did return to his precious Government after this was all said and done he'd be a liability. Weakness. Pure sickening weakness. Of course, this was why he would never give her a second glance. She hadn't meant to get emotionally involved, but how couldn't she? It was like letting a stray dog sleep in the barn and then shutting them out. The dog would keep coming back time and time again, seeking that same kindness.  
If she as so much hinted then she could lose everything. It was her money and connections that were her only value, something she needed to keep reminding herself. But the temptation to try and sway him to her was perpetually there. How he would tolerate her. She wasn't oblivious, she saw the carefully concealed looks of disdain he would shoot her... And she stuck around, all because she hoped that when this was all over and done with the Albert she knew in her youth would return to her.  
Now before her was another he'd entangled in his plans.

  
“What you do with that information is up to you. But I hope you realise that like this mother virus we're chasing down, if it fell into the wrong hands... Simmons has done terrible things to Sherry Birkin. Just think what he'd do to a child with Albert's genetics? What he'd do if he realised that it wasn't just Albert, if he found out about Alex?” She sniffed, grabbing a syringe from the desk. “Wesker may be cruel, but it's not always with intent. His cruelty comes from the primal desire for survival. Simmons' cruelty comes from greed. An insatiable greed and desire to do harm.”  
Leon's mouth grew dry. He didn't get long to think about the ultimatum he'd been presented with before the needle dug into his arm and drew a sample.

By this point, he was used to seeing his own blood being taken, but he was fairly sure that it was darker than normal. His arm ached, not just from all the areas they'd been stabbing him with needles, although if his skin didn't heal itself as well as it did there was no doubt the track marks would make him look like an addict.

But Excella was right. It was Sherry Birkin all over again. He'd managed to keep off the radar for six months before they dragged them back into the middle of things. He couldn't stand the thought of it happening to someone else. _Bleeding heart._

“I won't say anything.” He flexed his left hand, watching the vein stand up. He couldn't stand the sight of it. “But can you really trust Wesker to keep him safe from his own means?”  
“Perhaps not.” Excella clicked her tongue and deposited the sample into several little tubes. “But, I have my own means. That boy is just as much my son as he is Albert's. If he's anything like me then he'll be tenacious and a little upstart.” She interrupted herself and groaned as she sniffed again. “I'm dropping this subject. Do not speak of it to Albert.”  
“Things'll go badly for you if you talk about it?” Because of course that didn't come with loaded implications.  
“I can't say. We haven't spoken about it for years. It's still too sore for myself. I can't say if he feels as strongly as I do.” One sample was set under the microscope. The screen on the desk flickered to life, showing the cells being attacked by black wispy lines. It was as though there was smoke in his blood now. She grimaced. “Leon. If you live through this, I want you to promise me something.”  
“What's that?”  
“If you somehow, somewhere ever meet my son. I want you to protect him as diligently as you did Sherry. Keep him from getting mixed up with men like Simmons, stop him from falling into their hands.”  
“...I'll definitely try.”  
  


There was a moment of silence as they both watched the last red and white blood cell being absorbed by the smoke like substance. The cells grew spiky and dark, only for them to fade back into seeming normality.  
“How is your arm?” She uttered quietly.  
“My pinkie's a little numb. It just aches like I've pulled a muscle. Why?”  
“I have never seen anything like this. After most infections, the effects are there in plain sight like the T-virus. This one? It's hidden itself. Or it's adapting to you. It's not... most viruses change their host's code, but this one is merrily adapting to fit.” Excella turned to face Leon, “you haven't had an injury in that arm have you?”  
“...This is the shoulder I got shot in?”  
“Was there any lingering damage?”  
“It aches when it's cold, pops a lot that's about it. Should I be worried?”  
“...I think you have nothing to worry about.”

 

It was everything she'd needed after all these years. A breakthrough.  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Well I've lost it all, I'm just a silhouette,  
> A lifeless face that you'll soon forget,  
> My eyes are damp from the words you left,  
> Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.  
> Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.
> 
> And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one,  
> 'Cause most of us are bitter over someone.  
> Setting fire to our insides for fun,  
> To distract our hearts from ever missing them.  
> But I'm forever missing him.
> 
> And you caused it,  
> And you caused it,  
> And you caused it"  
> Daughter - Youth
> 
>   
> Sorry, this one was very dialogue heavy, but it makes up for the last chapter I think. To further build on the 'verse a friend of mine wrote a thing about Krauser telling the events leading to him joining Wesker. We bounce a lot of ideas off each other and if I couldn't do that with him I wouldn't be able to write this and consequently the other bits I have coming. I hadn't really planned to do much more with this than have it as a stop gap between 4 and five, but there's too much impact for me to not carry on :'D  
> His story is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9259865), go, read it, love it.
> 
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	9. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon's dreams take a twist he didn't see coming. The revelation, however, doesn't come without consequences. Doors are opened that should have remained sealed and Wesker realises he's losing control of the mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I never thought I'd change my opinion again  
> But you moved me in a way that I've never known  
> You moved me in a way that I've never known  
> But straight away you just moved into position again  
> You abused me in a way that I've never known  
> You abused me in a way that I've never known 
> 
> So break me shake me hate me take me over  
> When the madness stops then you will be alone  
> Just break me shake me hate me take me over  
> When the madness stops then you will be alone
> 
> So you're the kind who deals with the games in the mind  
> Well you confuse me in a way that I've never known  
> You confuse me in a way that I've never known "
> 
>   
> mild NSFW ahead in this chapter

The dusk settled in quickly. The change from late Summer to the middle of Autumn had come around quickly and there were times Leon allowed himself to briefly wonder if anyone at the DSO was concerned with how long the mission was taking. He didn't exactly have the means to send messages out to say he was fine. Maybe this was what Simmons wanted? Get him out of the picture, the last person on Sherry Birkin's side to be concerned about her with the means to do anything. Of course that left Claire in the line of fire. He grimaced as he shifted under the covers.  
The duvet he'd been given was oddly substantial, unless he wound up with a limb sticking out from the covers he didn't find himself too cold, despite the tent flaps being so close to the foot of his cot. More carrot less stick, wasn't that what Excella had said? It made sense how she was so successful with an understanding of how people worked like hers.

Though, speaking of. He rolled on his side and glanced at the other bed. It was Wesker's. Larger, more pillows, generally radiated luxury. And yet Excella said he wasn't sleeping at the moment. _Damned waste._ Leon thought to himself. If Wesker wasn't going to make the use of a bed then he sure as shit would. Granted if he learned anything from the castle if he was tired enough he could sleep just about anywhere, the cot wasn't so bad. He'd slept on far worse things.  
Normally when he turned in Wesker was hot on his tail, always quick to make sure he kept an eye on him. How things had changed. He wasn't entirely sure on what their meeting was about, but Excella had said she needed to go over some readings with him. Check back he supposed.  
The agent yawned and blinked the moisture away as best as he could. His eyes didn't sting at least, but even by his standards he was turning in early. Admittedly there was something unsettling knowing that the reason you were so tired all the time was because of a virus adapting to you, but Excella had said there was technically nothing to worry about. Supposedly. He wished he could have a second opinion on it but she was his best bet.

He shook his head and pulled the duvet up over his shoulder, wrenching his eyes shut. Overthinking wasn't a rabbit hole he wanted to go delving down tonight, especially as Wesker had said they'd be going back to the castle in the morning. Apparently, a few of his dreams had allowed them to build up a fairly accurate map of some previously unexplored areas of the castle and now it was down to him to point them in the right direction. He needed his energy.

 

Leon opened his eyes, and shifted onto his other side. The camp no longer had the dull hum of people talking or wandering around, all he could hear was the breeze and the last of the insects before the cold season wiped them out. He felt like he was floating. When he moved it felt slower, like everything took more effort than it should have done. He reached for his canteen of water and gave it an experimental shake. Ugh. Empty. He felt absolutely parched. Which was exactly what he got for burying himself under the duvet and cooking himself. Wearily he hoisted himself out of the bed. It didn't feel cold like he remembered it being, but it didn't seem to matter, he just shrugged it off and slipped his feet into his boots. The combination of an oversized jumper and lounge pants over combat boots was definitely not high grade fashion. As he approached the mess tent he heard the sound of a radio turned down low, an old CD playing that he was sure came out not too long before the Raccoon incident. It was.. oddly calm.

His need for water didn't seem quite so intent as his desire to relive a little nostalgia. He was pretty sure it was an artist his parents listened to when he was younger and it brought a warmth deep in his chest. It was one of the first comforts he'd had since being stuck with Wesker and the HFC. Absently he wondered if it was Henderson.

The sound of the music lead him to the medical tent, the song changed. During the pause he was sure he heard laboured breathing. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end, the sluggish weightlessness shifting to a heaviness. He didn't want to investigate it particularly but found his feet moving towards it regardless.  
The light within the tent was dimmed like the music. A solitary lamp was the only thing lit, barely illuminating the forms moving together on the cot. There was no mistaking those shoulders, he'd just never seen them unclothed before. He felt like a snake recoiling but rather than being ready to launch into attack he was ready to leave. He shouldn't have been here and yet here he was, watching the two people who held him captive laying intertwined and gasping for breaths. It was more of them than he ever wanted to see.  
_Why are you still stood here?! What if they see you? Do you want to be branded as a peeping-tom pervert?_  
The two could have looked up at any time to see the agent dumbly stood there. But they were completely oblivious to his presence, too wrapped up with grabbing one another or pressing their lips together.  
He felt his face flush, creeping all the way to the tips of his ears. Excella's panting and mewls were stifled every once in a while after Wesker hit just the right spot. He felt like he was hypnotised by watching his muscles shift under his skin with each motion. Despite all the power and strength he was capable of it was obvious he was keeping it in check. Her legs and arms latched around the Tyrant, clawing at him to be pulled closer than their skin would allow.

Finally able to tear his gaze away, he caught a glimpse of a woman sat at the office chair that he'd deemed Excella's throne. She had a severe expression, shoulder length golden blonde hair swept to one side and a white suit. Her arms were folded, clearly seething at the scene before them. She didn't however, appear entirely tangible. _Wait a second..._ He looked to his own hands and realised his body appeared the same.  
“ _Wait, who are you?_ ” He tried to call out to the woman.

She met his gaze and his stomach dropped. He wished she hadn't. Her expression turned, shifting to look like she was about to spit acid at him. She got to her feet and approached him. Her stride was much like Wesker's, broad, confident and quick. He didn't even have the chance to leave the tent before she was a foot away from him.  
“ _Do not trust Frieda. She is a harlot who will leave Gregor.”_

 

He opened his eyes and sat bolt upright. Immediately his hands rushed to pat himself, he had to be awake this time right? Quickly he looked to his side table for the canteen he'd grabbed. It wasn't there. His mouth had felt dry beforehand, now he just wanted to hold his head underwater for ten minutes solid. Did he see what he thought he did? How in the hell did he get back into bed if it wasn't a dream? Who was that woman?  
_No, deep breaths. Think about it_. Wesker didn't miss anything. Even in the middle of fucking, he'd probably be aware of him standing there looking at them like some creep- Christ his left arm was hurting again. And Excella didn't want to give him any painkillers in case it caused a bad reaction. Whatever happened, he needed to get it written down, some clarity amongst the confusion. His detail was... _sparing_. But he couldn't forget the woman watching and her words. Who the hell were Gregor and Frieda?  
  
As he slipped out of bed he found his boots, where they'd been left when he went to bed. Small mercies. It was still dark out, but as he jogged through the camp he spotted a few men still on patrol, something he hadn't seen in his 'dream'. It gave him some form of hope that things weren't nearly as weird as he thought they were. Sure enough, the light was still coming from the medical tent and all over again he felt his heart in his throat and his stomach sink to his toes. What was worse was Wesker emerging. He looked a little too pristine. His hair was freshly styled, even after their uneventful excursions by the end of the day there would be a few inevitable hairs out of place. Although he couldn't help but notice how it was slightly wider at the sides than normal. His turtleneck had a few extra creases in the fabric. Leon's eyes widened as the Tyrant approached.  
“Pet, what are you doing up at this hour?” He genuinely seemed surprised to see him. “You should be resting.”  
“I- I uh.. I needed my canteen.” He could smell soap. A _lot_ of soap.  
_Take a moment to think about this Kennedy. Either your sense of smell is getting better or you're being too paranoid about this and you're making things up_ \-- _What did you scrub every inch of yourself with a nail brush or what?_  
“What's wrong?” the Tyrant's brow quirked as he took a step closer. Immediately Leon took a step back and shook his head. “You left it with Excella earlier.”  
Wesker produced the canteen Leon had been looking for not moments ago. _Did I leave it in there just now? Shit-_  
“Pet, are you alright?”  
Leon shook his head. He wanted to take the canteen and just fill it up and go back to bed. But he couldn't bring himself to take it. _It was just a god damn dream. The hell is wrong with you?_  
“I had a weird one..” He cut himself off and sucked on his lips, trying to silent the argumentative debate rattling around his skull. He could feel the muscles in his left forearm twitching. It hurt. It felt like it was cramping. He clutched it with his right arm, which didn't go unnoticed.“'Woke up and I'm still not sure if I'm dreaming or not. Sorry. -I'm-”  
“Pet.” Wesker spoke firmly, observing as the agent's eyes glossed over. Leon finally looked at him, rather than his attention being directed to the floor. “Get some rest.”  
Leon snapped back to attention, eyelids fluttering as he processed his words. Silently he nodded and made his way back to the tent. His arm had stopped trembling.  
“What was that about?” Excella lent out of the medical tent. Unlike Wesker, she hadn't made much of an effort to tidy herself up. Her hair was like a bird's nest. She was going to bed anyway.  
“I'm not sure...”

 

 

Abruptness was the port of call for the day it seemed. Over breakfast Leon had settled in with a few of the interns with the excavation team. Finally, he was able to get some information about the coin he'd found months ago. The group's eyes lit up at the find and pleaded him to bring anything that he found along the way on today's excursion. Ah yeah, that was happening. He offered his assistance regardless, asked them if there was anything specific they wanted him to look out for. Leon was then lead to a table that had various items strewn across it. Some were broken bits of pottery, which seemed to be the standard for most dig sites, there was a set of rusted keys that look set to crumble at the slightest touch and rolled up pieces of parchment.  
Henderson was in the middle of explaining exactly what bits meant what when he stopped mid-sentence. Leon glanced to him and noticed the expression. He looked... tense. All chatter had stopped as Wesker marched across the camp. His shoulders were squared and the shades were firmly in place, his hands also clenched tightly into fists at his sides.  
“Ah- Mr. Wesker, we were just discussing items to look for-” Henderson began, but was sharply cut off by a vicious snarl that showed his tombstone teeth. A predator bearing its teeth.  
“There will be none of that today.”

Without explaining himself he grabbed Leon by the back of his shirt. It felt like he'd been punched. He could see the irritation radiating from Wesker, could taste the tension in the air. What was going on? Helpless in his relentless grip the agent was dragged across the camp, little regard being shown to whether he could keep up with him and his pace. If he stumbled over his feet, then he'd aggressively be pulled back upright, a scathing remark muttered and carried on once again towards the castle. He could feel himself almost on the brink of hyperventilating, his heart pounding so hard in his chest. He wanted to run. He could sense the seething virulence that was fuelling Wesker's actions. He could _see it_. The infected aura that Leon could only see sporadically was just visible enough to serve as a reminder that he was using his abilities. He cast a glance back to the camp, a desperate silent plea for help or salvation. The HFC militia that watched the ordeal stayed firmly in place, observing with a combination of disinterest, smirks or confusion. In the distance, he could just about see Henderson speaking to Excella. She looked up, only for her line of sight to be broken by a tent. 

Once across the threshold of the castle, there was no hope for him. It didn't matter if he struggled, if he tried desperately to get the Tyrant to speak to him, he was met with a sharp silence. He was punishing him, he knew that much, but for what he couldn't think.

 _Wait. The dream._ Was he angry about him writing about the dream he had the night before? Shit. Shit, he knew he shouldn't have written it down. But he'd been so confused. He needed something to be a constant, something to ground him and remind him he wasn't losing it.

 

As they entered deeper into the castle Wesker's grip didn't relent but seemed more annoyed by Leon's attempts at struggling free. Despite the atmosphere, he didn't harm him directly, he was probably nothing more than dead weight to him. He watched the corridors end and new familiar ones begin anew. No. No, no, no.  
The deer head mounted on the wall by a collapsed suit of armour was all he needed to realise exactly where he'd been taken. Before he could speak up, Wesker released his grip and threw the dream book at him. Thankfully he caught it, but couldn't help but feel slightly winded at the impact.  
“Who was she?” He barked.  
“Who was who?” Leon could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

And then Wesker removed his shades. He felt like he wanted to be sick. His golden eyes were fixated upon him, boring a hole into the core of his very being. He stared death down several times in his life but now he was partially convinced that he was genuinely about to die if he didn't come up with the right answers to sate his rage.  
“Don't play coy with me. Your latest entry. The woman in the white suit. Who is she?”  
“I don't know what you want me to tell you?” He held up his hands as best as he could, the dream book shoved under his arm. “I don't know who she was. She was just there.”  
“Don't _lie_ to me.”  
“I'm not lying, Wesker. What's crawled up your ass?-”  
Wesker moved fast. Faster than he realised he could. Within a matter of moments his hand was clasped around his neck and squeezing. He was taller than the agent by a good four inches, and yet he lifted him up just above his eye level, teeth bared. He'd never seen him so unhinged. He didn't even get time to let out a choke as he squeezed his neck tighter.  
“I will not be made to ask again.”  
He couldn't even get enough oxygen to get words out. The light-headedness crept back, darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. He knew all the ways to get out of a choke hold, and yet he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to move. Was Wesker controlling him through the infected hive mind? It didn't matter, his lungs began to burn. He needed to get free, but couldn't see a way. He tried to reach for a vase on a shelf next to him but couldn't get his hand to keep steady. It trembled and shook. _Why now? Not now. This is the worst time-_

Before he could react he felt a thickness in his throat, it felt like he was about to throw up, but with the grip on his throat so tight how could it come out? Despite the pressure, he felt himself gagging as his hands scrambled wildly at the Tyrant's hands. Something was going to happen and it wasn't going to be good.  
“Kennedy. Answer me.”  
As if by some karmic justice, Leon loudly retched, with the noise came a thick cloud of black smoke. Accompanying that came the black bio-sludge he'd been heaving up beforehand. Wesker's eyes widened as he watched the mass drip down his arm and jerked back to avoid the cloud. When the first round didn't work, Leon's body expelled another. It hurt. It felt like flesh was being torn from the inside of his very lungs. Even if his body was fighting back it couldn't stop suffocation taking its hold, the darkness at the edges of his vision crept in further and soon he couldn't see at all as his eyes rolled back. Despite the tremors through his left arm, it raised and gripped tightly at Wesker's wrist.

It actually hurt.

The agent was now capable of causing the Tyrant pain. In the split second Wesker wavered, it was enough of an opening to break free. The infected arm practically clawed at the flesh leaving deep angry red lines in his skin. Wesker growled and finally let go of Leon, putting as much distance between himself and the black smoke as the agent crashed to the floor. He wheezed for air but his body was more interested in expelling more of the sludge and smoke. Tears streamed down his face as he arched up on his forearms. Even if the carpet was once in a good state considering its age, there was no saving it from the black bio-matter that seeped and tarnished the threads.

The Tyrant tried to avoid the smoke clouds. There was no telling what it would do if he came into contact with it, how it would affect him. He'd gone too far. For now. But it didn't change the bitter feelings of confusion about the entry. How could Leon have known about her? He didn't mention her, there was no visual trace of her anywhere. They'd been so careful all this time. Whatever the circumstances, it did nothing to sate the rage bubbling away in his chest. He had no answers and nothing to show for his outburst. But Leon couldn't know. He couldn't know anything just yet.  
He stepped around the agent and threw open doors, anything to allow for ventilation to let the smoke dissipate, he couldn't afford to allow another virus into his body, especially with the effects it'd had on Leon. He wouldn't allow himself to be controlled in such a way.  
He turned his attention to the agent once more. He was breathing again despite how haggard it was. It was wretched to listen to, there was an almost underlying growl the way his chest rattled with moisture with each inhale. He'd stopped coughing up bio-matter at least. The Tyrant's eyes narrowed as he regarded him. How must he have appeared? To have lashed out at him for seemingly no reason? The point remained, however, this indulgence with his dreams wouldn't be allowed to continue. 

“Kennedy. On your feet.” He loomed over Leon, eyes narrowed and regarding him. He was expecting him to lash out, but he wasn't expecting the furious look of betrayal.  
“Fuck you.” He coughed, his right hand soothing at his chest. “Just fuck you. Fuck all of this. I'm out.”  
“You're dismissed when I say you are. Now, on your _feet_.”  
“I'm not your god damn plaything. You're pissed off? Not my job to bear the brunt of it-” Leon was cut off by Wesker grabbing the back of his shirt once more, again lifting him to his feet.

Leon could barely keep himself upright. He felt drained, his legs were like jelly and he lacked the necessary energy to resist. Just how Wesker probably wanted him at this point. He couldn't stand to be near him at this point, but regrettably the Tyrant was the only thing keeping him upright at this point.  
“I've indulged you enough. We have a goal to meet and you've dragged your feet enough.” As he spoke, Leon noticed Wesker reaching into his pocket to produce a key. He was hit by a second wave of nausea. They couldn't open that part of the castle. Nothing good would come from it-  
“You're like a god damn child.” Leon snarled. It was barely above a whisper, waiting for his throat to heal itself. “Throwing petty tantrums all the time- just cause things don't go your way-”  
“Enough, Kennedy. I told you from the start this wouldn't be a pleasure cruise and you've taken too many liberties.” He approached the door, his left arm firmly around Leon's waist and set the key in the lock.  
“You don't know what the hell you're talking about or doing.” The agent groaned, his right arm draped over Wesker's shoulder, hating himself for the way he let his head slump against his captor's shoulder.

Because that's all this ever was. It wasn't a noble team up, he knew this, he'd realised this fully in the forest, but he'd let himself be coaxed back like the idiot he was. He was a glutton for punishment, always had been and always would be, always let himself be so naïve and believe everyone had the best of intentions – too many times he'd given people the benefit of the doubt and been let down. This was no different. And he should have expected it.  


Wesker pushed the door open and Leon felt an invasive cold pain shoot down his spine. They shouldn't have been here. They shouldn't have let it out. _Wait, let what out?_ He tried to resist Wesker's grip once more, but the strength he'd been given was long gone, instead leaving him as effective as a sack of potatoes.  
“There is nothing down here other than more of the castle we need to explore.” Wesker ignored Leon's last comment and carried on, turning his flash light on. “If your 'visions' granted you this key then why are we not supposed to travel down here? Can you answer me that?” He paused and waited for Leon to answer. The agent instead grimaced and didn't reply. “That's what I thought.”  
To their right as they continued down the hall Leon noticed a door with a thick block of wood barricading it shut. He didn't know why, but he was met with a mental image of Ocán's room behind the theatre. But why was it barricaded shut? There were too many questions, but all he could gleam was the further down the corridor they went, the worse the creeping dread in his gut felt. The paintings were... horrific at points to say the least. It said a great deal about the Lord's taste in décor, no matter how fancy the wallpaper looked. Although Wesker didn't seem bothered in the slightest, why would he? As far as he was concerned he was imagining things.  
He didn't, however, imagine the door that burst open ahead of them. He even felt Wesker jolt in surprise. Even if he jumped himself, he couldn't help the small pang of spiteful amusement. _Fine. Don't believe me. You'll see just what's waiting for you._  
The amusement dissipated quickly as Wesker led them to the door that'd just opened. He recognised this corridor. It was fuzzy, but he was sure he'd seen this in one of his dreams-  
“We can't be here.” Leon gripped at Wesker's hand on his waist, trying to prize him off. “We really need to go. You made your point. But please, listen to me, this is- there's something wrong with this place-”  
“Stop your babbling, Kennedy.”

Despite seemingly ignoring Leon's pleas Wesker pointed the flashlight around, taking in the details of the corridor. Compared to the rest of the castle the area appeared completely untouched by the passage of time. What was even more bizarre were the candles that were lit and the dull crackling of a lit fire. Whilst these details were telling Leon to get out of dodge, it only made Wesker press on further.  
At the end of the corridor, they were met with what appeared to be a dining room. The table was fully set, candles lit to give a more intimate feeling, food left waiting to be eaten, plates set.  
“If this is your idea of a joke, Kennedy-”  
“I swear to god this isn't me. We need to leave-”  
“ _Enough_.”  
The Tyrant's steps became more cautious. Gradually stepping to the back of the room. There was another set of double doors and to the left was another corridor. Wesker tried the door, but it wasn't budging. Leon found his attention fixated on the portrait instead. It was exactly the same as the one in his dreams. Even down to the piercing gaze. He felt himself jolt. He had to leave. If Wesker wouldn't listen then he had to go without him.  
But Wesker's grip on him didn't falter, it didn't even budge as he gained his second wind to struggle. So he was led, once again, towards the item from his nightmare.

It happened almost exactly as it had in the dream. The sound of the fire behind them stopped and the lights were gone. His heart began hammering in his chest, fight or flight kicking in veering very much towards the flight aspect. But this time, Wesker saw it too. The minute the candles went out Wesker looked around, trying to hear if someone else had joined them. What he didn't seem to see however was the ghastly blue hand that reached out of the portrait. Leon inhaled sharply. In the split second of Wesker's attention being dropped the agent managed to wrangle himself free, slipping out of his grip like an eel. If it hadn't been for the thing emerging from the portrait, maybe he'd have attempted to deliver a blow to the back of Wesker's head to give him long enough to run. Instead, he scrambled as best as he could to escape the dining room.  
The table once laid with a pristine game roast was now barren. The plates shattered, a knife buried in the table and stripped bones scattered. It stank of death. He wanted to throw up once more. He could barely stand up, having to use the table to keep himself upright.  
“Kennedy! The hell has gotten into you?”

Wesker's voice was distant, the man completely oblivious to the mutated man that stepped into the room. It seemed equally oblivious to his presence at first too, but it was all too fixated on Leon scrambling and grabbing anything he could to haul himself along.  
“He's here!”  
“Nonsense-”

As the tyrant made to follow Leon, he was met with the sight of him being thrown across the table. He dragged the table cloth with him. The knife tore the fabric with a ripping noise almost as loud as the sound of the china plates and brass candlesticks being smashed together. He wasn't sure what he just saw. It was only Leon, but he sure as hell had been lifted by something to be thrown with such force. The trajectory was all wrong for it to be self-inflicted.  
He hadn't armed Leon, he hadn't thought ahead of the possibility of hostilities. He'd been careless. He'd let his impatience and rage get the better of him. And now it was potentially about to cost him.  
“Leon!” He shouted, bolting towards the bundle of fabric.

 

As he got closer his flashlight switched itself back on and the light fell on the agent. He was struggling with seemingly nothing at first. His hands gripped in such a way that he was grappling against a straight edge being forced against his neck. He lost his grip and cried out as something dug into his left shoulder. In the frenzy Leon's leg kicked into something, sending it staggering away.

The light hit the creature. It hissed loudly and pulled away, its mottled and decayed arm went in front of its eyes to block the permeating beam. It smoked. The smoke behaved in almost the same way that the cloud Leon had produced, though it was a deep indigo blue colour. Wesker's mouth grew dry. He hadn't been lying.  
The face almost looked familiar to the portrait Leon had been squirming in front of, but mutilated. Its eyes were white, without a trace of pupils and under were deep gashes down to its jaw. Eyes unseeing but capable of sight. The wounds were on both sides of its face and it wielded a giant hook with a chain hanging from it. The chain went all the way from the creature back to the painting. What was further unsettling was how now the light was on it, it appeared tangible, and incredibly irate about it.  
“Now-” Leon ducked under the table and dragged himself towards Wesker. “-now, do you see- what I meant?”  
“Get down.” Without hesitation, Wesker pulled out his Samurai Edge and unloaded an experimental round into the creature. 

It recoiled, like anything else when hit with a bullet, but it didn't seem to be much deterred from beginning its unnatural approach. One minute it was visible and the next it wasn't, then it appeared a foot closer to the Tyrant. Thankfully he was too quick for the creature and dodged its swings with ease. Light hurt it. It must have been linked to the creature in the woods. Yes, Leon had said that it couldn't go into direct sunlight. So it applied to most forms of light in that case. This made things a great deal easier.  
The creature swung the hook at Wesker, but what it didn't count on was him catching it. It was stronger than he initially realised, now seeing why Leon had such trouble holding its attack off, but he couldn't falter. Without missing a beat, Wesker raised his gun to the creature's face and unloaded the remainder of the clip.  
There was a sickening gurgling noise as it slumped back, the hook fading from its grip. It was as though it lost all sense of solidness, folding in on itself to becoming nothing more than a bubbling pile of bio-mass. As it fizzed away, Wesked looked to the rest of the room. The fire was lit once more. The table laid, candles ablaze as though nothing had happened. What was alarming however were the deep slashes in the portrait.  
He hadn't seen Leon get to his feet, but he was stood in front of it, trembling, knife in hand. The knife was buried deep into the canvas, savagely tearing it to ribbons. But his pupils were blown, unreactive to the light once more. Further down the passage, he noticed another portrait. It resembled the faded sketch Leon had found, but done with oil paints. The light hadn't bleached it like many of the portraits hung in the castle. In it was a woman with thick black hair that curled perfectly, olive skin and a dark red dress.  
“Ocán.” Wesker uttered unthinkingly.  
He shook his head and turned to the trembling agent.

Blood ran down his left arm, dripping on the floor beneath him. The wound was deep, but he seemed utterly untroubled by it, instead too fixated upon slashing paintings.  
“Pet. We're leaving.” Slowly he reached for Leon's hands, guiding them away from the knife. He was pale once again, highlighting the blue of his veins on his left arm. “Come on.”

Wesker dislodged the knife and set it back into the agent's pouch. He'd seen Leon switch off like this a few times before, but never had he felt guilt when he did. This was his responsibility and he'd allowed for this to happen. He clenched his fists. Reprimanding himself for his impatience and allowing himself to fly off the handle in such a way. First he'd choked Leon for his ignorance and now he'd opened the door Leon had told him to keep locked and they were attacked for it. Time was of the essence. But the further he tried to coax their progress onwards the more damage he made to his cause. He was renowned for being calm and collected, for being heartless and passive, but here he was acting as Leon had said, like a petulant child.  
His fist connected with the wall as he swore under his breath.  
“'Notice how you call me Pet when you're trying to cozy up to me.” Leon hissed baring his teeth, the action seemingly jolting him from his disassociation. Despite the bristling, he didn't put any distance between them. He clutched at his wound and winced. “You fucked up.”  
“I did.” Wesker's lips curled into a snarl. His heated gaze remaining fixated on the dent he'd made in the wall.  
“Majorly.”  
“I _know_.”  
Leon didn't bother to fire off another scolding remark, instead, he heaved a sigh. Rubbing his face in his mistakes wasn't going to make anything any better. Sure as hell wasn't going to make things any easier for him in the long run.  
“Do you believe me now at least?”  
“About what?”  
“That I still don't a single fucking clue about what's going on?” He couldn't help but laugh. His tone sardonic as he slipped down the wall, slumping over himself.  
“That was obvious.” The Tyrant leant down and took Leon's good arm, draping it over his shoulder once more. “Now's not the place to rest, Pet.”  
“Only your Pet when it suits you. Gonna give me emotional whiplash at this rate.”

 

Wesker led Leon from the castle once more, allowing himself to be a pillar of support rather than mercilessly dragging him along like the dead weight he had been before. He allowed them to pause whilst the agent caught his breath, repeatedly checked back in with his state. Despite all the rest breaks, Leon was fading quickly. He'd exhausted him too much, lord knew what the virus was doing to him now after being choked and taking a hit to his shoulder. He healed abnormally quickly, he knew that much, but he'd never exerted him that much, there was no telling what would happen.  
Eventually, Leon's legs gave up the ghost, exhaustion taking its toll on him. If they'd brought herbs with them perhaps it wouldn't have been quite so bad. But he was only playing a game of what ifs with himself and unnecessarily tormenting himself.  
“I can't...I'm sorry.” Leon winced, practically collapsing on Wesker.  
“It can't be helped.”  
Carefully he set him down only to scoop him up into his arms. At least like this they could leave the castle quickly. Lord knew if anything else would emerge after that last attack.

Leon hadn't expected it. But even if he was still annoyed with him, he was going to take all the help he could get and this seemed suspiciously like he was trying to apologise without having to say sorry.

Perhaps he was capable of basic human decency.

 

Once back at the camp, Leon was left in Excella's care and Wesker excused himself almost as quickly as he'd arrived. After his behaviour, he'd need to give a little space to the agent and get his head back in the right place. He had to centre himself so he didn't fall into such a state again. A lapse in control like that couldn't- he shook his head and settled himself at his desk. Page after page of thoughts and facts filled his journal, almost each one had a question that was raised to it. He was here to find answers, not more problems.

“ _Each day he grows more frantic. He's finally realised that each day that passes puts him closer to being put in the ground._ ” Wesker paused and looked over his shoulder. An image of her. He felt conflicted at her appearance. Glad for her safety, furious she appeared to Leon.  
“Why did he see you?”  
“ _Does it bother you so much?_ ” Her mouth pulled into a tight lipped smirk. “ _He is a tool to be used. I was merely showing him the true nature of things_.”  
“You revealed yourself willingly to him?” His fist clenched. “What were you thinking?”  
“ _He's getting worse. I used to think he was bad when we were children, now he behaves out of spite. Petulance. It's not fair you're not here. You're not where I can see you._ ”  
“It can't be helped. You are where you need to be.”  
“ _I can't help but wonder if you want me here so you can keep that harlot by your side_.”  
“She is necessary.”  
“ _Is it necessary that you fuck her?_ ”  
Wesker's teeth raked over his bottom lip, his jaw tensing. Excella was a tool, but, she was far too useful to simply throw away.  
“It keeps her at my side.”  
“ _Yet she doesn't help you make any breakthroughs. Allow me to remind you of my worth. We are speaking through our connection from the progenitor. The agent isn't dreaming. Someone is using him to communicate. Someone who is alive within the walls of that castle. The corpse you're looking for. Humour him and trust in him. If he becomes completely loyal to us we have another agent like Krauser. Someone who can give us the Family._ ”  


Before Wesker could reply, the woman's expression grew startled and disappeared. The connection was broken. Jealousy at every corner he turned. He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, sinking into his seat. Alex may have wanted her gone, but she was letting her emotions get the better of her. Perhaps he was too. She wouldn't help them forever, not when it came time for the ceremony, but things would be different afterwards. Perhaps he was putting too much faith into a pipe dream.  
“Ever the puppet master.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "She says, "I can help you, but what do you say?"  
> But it's not free baby, you'll have to pay  
> You just keep me contemplating, that  
> your soul is slowly fading 
> 
> God, don't you know that I live with a tonne of regret?  
> 'Cause I used to move you in a way that you've never known  
> But then I accused you in a way that you've never known  
> But you hurt me in a way that I've never known... 
> 
> So break me shake me hate me take me over  
> When the madness stops then you will be alone  
> Just break me shake me hate me take me over  
> When the madness stops then you will be alone"  
> Savage Garden - Break Me, Shake Me
> 
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	10. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesker apologises for his outburst but manages to over-step the mark once again when personal matters arise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've tried to leave it all behind me  
> But I woke up and there they were beside me  
> And I don't believe it but I guess it's true  
> Some feelings, they can travel too  
> Oh there it is again, sitting on my chest  
> Makes it hard to catch my breath  
> I scramble for the light of change
> 
> You're always on my mind  
> You're always on my mind
> 
> And I never minded being on my own  
> Then something broke in me and I wanted to go home  
> To be where you are  
> But even closer to you, you seem so very far  
> And now I'm reaching out with every note I sing  
> And I hope it gets to you on some pacific wind  
> Wraps itself around you and whispers in your ear  
> Tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here"
> 
>   
> Warning for this chapter, references/implied sexual assault

Leon came to back in his own bed rather than the medical tent. His shoulder had been bandaged up, and from the painful tug when he moved it he was fairly sure there were stitches in there. He winced. It wasn't nearly as debilitating and painful as it had been when he first sustained the injury. How much of it had already healed? Excella had said that his body's ability to heal was astounding. It wasn't as efficient as Wesker's own healing capabilities, but still noteworthy. Perhaps the stitches would come out sooner than later. He could but hope.

 

“Ah, you're awake.”  
Leon cocked his head, not realising that Wesker was as close as he was. Rather than being sat on his bed, he was at the desk just behind him. He jolted, hissing at the sudden tension put on his wound.  
“The fuck is wrong with you-”  
“It's not my fault you aren't aware of your surroundings.”  
Leon wrinkled his nose, giving a sarcastic look in response. “How long have I been out?”  
“Almost a day. You were just about awake when Excella patched you up, but once the painkillers set in you were gone.”  
“Ooh, I get painkillers now do I?”  
“Nothing top shelf worthy, it's a blend of herbs, so don't get too excited.”  
“No morphine? Damn, I'd probably be hilarious on morphine.”  
“I don't think you need painkillers to be capable of speaking nonsense.”  
“Rude.”

Wesker shrugged and set the pen down, shifting to face Leon.  
“I feel as though I owe you an explanation.”  
_Oh._ So much for things staying light hearted. But there was something in the way the man pressed his mouth into a firm line. He looked unsure. He'd seen that look a few times, but never quite so obviously. Wesker couldn't look unsure, he had to be confident in all. Once there might have been the urge to mock him for it, to call him up and let him know exactly what he thought of him. Now it felt.. well, wrong. It felt dirty to think of it that way. This man being who he was and all the things he did, he shouldn't have felt bad for the urge to poke a little fun at him.

“For what?” He didn't mean to sound so oblivious, there were just a lot of unanswered questions floating around.  
“For my behaviour yesterday. It was a lapse in judgement and self-control. It was beneath me and I debased myself with my actions.”  
“What got you so pissed?” Leon shuddered and bundled the duvet over his shoulders, legs crossed under him. “That didn't just come from nowhere. It was something about my last entry, that woman.” He paused and gave a small snort. “It can't have been because I saw your butt.”  
He wasn't sure if the sentiment worked, there was no smirk in response to the comment. Though his expression shifted to one of thought.

“It was indeed about the woman you saw. Outside of myself, Excella and a select few in the remains of Umbrella know about her existence. She has always kept to the shadows whilst hiding in plain sight. Something of a contradiction.” He cocked his head. “Your dreams are indeed connected to the infected hive mind. I didn't want to acknowledge it before. Realistically it is beneficial to us, but there was something about it that unnerved me. Alex forcibly appearing to you only proves it. Even if her actions showed more of her character than being of any real use.”  
“Who the hell are Freda and Gregor?”  
“She... reads a little too much into the works of Kafka. It's been her safety net for a long time. She closely identifies with The Metamorphosis and to her we are Greta and Gregor. After Gregor's metamorphosis into a grotesque insect she is the only one who stays by him. Freda is a woman from a different work of his. In that instance I would be the protagonist K and Freda is the woman who attempts to seduce him but ultimately betrays him.”  
“Freda is Excella then.”  
“Correct.”

 

Leon paused and considered this for a moment. Alex. The woman that Excella had mentioned.  
“Is she your Greta?” He asked carefully. “Because.. I may not have actually been there but you're _close_ with Excella.”  
“It's complex.”  
“Kinda sounds like you're screwing around with both of them.”  
“This isn't a soap opera. The situation is more complex than that.”  
“Alby, you're playing with two pretty scary women's affections, that's gonna go badly.”  
“Excella is a means to an end.” He could tell Wesker was getting frustrated once more, the way he spat out his response. If that was true he wouldn't have looked so pained. The agent wished he could see Wesker's face better, to ditch those shades like he had done the day before.  
“Why don't you say that with a little more conviction next time?” Leon snorted, shaking his head. “So in the end, this is all for Alex. So what's the deal once Excella's not useful any more? Kill her?”  
The Tyrant didn't answer. Leon was fairly sure he was going to storm out, but instead he sat there with his fists clenched on his thighs. There may have been a plan in motion at some point, but somehow, Leon got the feeling that it'd long gone off the rails and was messily crashing through whatever path it seemed to take.  
“I've said too much.”  
“Who do you exactly talk to about this? You just sit and let it fester, no wonder you freaked out yesterday-”  
“Don't make excuses for my behaviour.”  
“Having insight doesn't negate the fact that you did indeed fuck up yesterday. Just means I know why. That's what this was about, right? You needed to explain yourself so you could stop feeling bad about it.”  
“Don't pretend that you're qualified enough to make judgements on my actions-”  
“You're kind of an open book. I can't help that I can read people. You're in between a rock and a hard place.” He shifted, knowing he was poking the bear once more. “You don't want to get rid of her. And I don't think you should either. I'm guessing she makes you happy, or something like that otherwise you wouldn't put up with her antics. But you'll have to come clean to Alex about it. She obviously.. thinks a lot of you too.” Leon recalled the conversation with Excella once more.

 

He couldn't begin to think how it would be to be stuck in an environment like Spencer's care for your formative childhood years. How much damage he did to them. They probably depended on one another if they're still in contact now.  
“I require both. Neither are replaceable, but one wants the other gone and the other has to live with knowing that she's hated. She had enough of that before we officially began working together.”  
“So... you feel responsible for one of them and the other..” Leon raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “I didn't think I'd ever find myself talking about relationships with _you_ of all people. Let alone knowing you're in love with someone.”  
“Don't be so naïve.”  
“I can't judge. I'm not going to either. Both obviously mean a lot to you.” It wasn't as if he didn't have his own tally going of failed relationships. One sided affections, messy break-ups, doomed to fail romances, quick passionate flings... their deaths constantly weighing on him. He swallowed hard and shook his head. This wasn't about him. But he couldn't help but feel bad for Wesker. A man raised to be emotionally stunted caught up in the treacherous waters of dealing with other people's emotions. “You obviously mean a lot to Excella too.”  
Wesker didn't follow up the comment. His expression was that blank yet stern unreadable state. Perhaps he'd pushed the matter a little too far for today.

 

“The implications about the dreams for our mission are more pressing.” It was muttered harshly. Leon was sure he heard a hint of weariness in his tone. “If they are from the infected hive mind, then that implies that Ancient Corpse might be the wrong term entirely. There is sentience unlike we've seen in infected beyond myself and a handful of others.”  
“It's funny you should say that, because I'm pretty sure that the Hookman's not dead. I know he rotted away after you killed him but. I can't help but think we haven't seen the last of him. How many times has it seemed like we've killed something and it returns bigger, badder and more mutated?”  
“I see your point.” Wesker got to his feet and picked up what Leon assumed was his own journal. Filled with notes about lord knew what. He flicked through the pages and huffed, setting it back down, only to move onto another. “There is a connection with the paintings and the creature. We shall have to be on the lookout for them. Perhaps gather and destroy them? You didn't want to go beyond that door because of the painting, I'm assuming. Have you felt quite so strongly repelled in anywhere else within the castle?”  
“Not yet. But now we've got a whole new area to explore..”  
“Quite.” He closed the book and set it down. “Now, I must ask that you remove the covers. I need to inspect that wound. Infections travel through bites and wounds, we can't take the chance of you becoming infected with anything else.”  
  


Leon groaned, not sure if he was entirely ready to deal with the cold. To be fair, he'd been cut, scraped and bitten by enough infected over the years that he began to wonder if he was immune or a passive carrier rather than someone that displays symptoms.  
“What about you?” His eyebrow quirked as he shifted, exposing his wounded shoulder to the air. It was still red and angry, but the pain came and went. “I was coughing up... _something_ at you.”  
“A defensive mechanism. So far that smoke has killed everyone it's come into contact with, except for yourself. There's every possibility that the virus was counting on it to be strong enough to work.” Wesker settled in front of him, dragging a chair closer as he examined the wound.  
“Did it infect you?”  
The tyrant paused and looked at him. There was that searching expression again. He could just about see the yellow glow behind the black tinted lenses. It darted quickly back and forth, examining him. He could feel goosebumps rising on his forearms.  
“No.” He stopped, apparently his curiosity sated. “The concentration wasn't high enough. My antibodies killed it.”  
“That's something.” Leon gave a small huff of amusement. “Not exactly something I'd wish on anyone- Ow.” He flinched back from Wesker's prying hands, the wound now stinging as the alcohol evaporated.  
“Apologies. I will need you to bear with it, however.”  
  


It was all too easy to accept the hand that snaked around the small of his back, pulling him closer as Wesker went to dab the wound once more. It held him in place as he continued to clean it, nor did he resist as Leon folded on himself as he winced through the pain. The tyrant's shoulders were broad and inviting. He was tired, it was something to lean on. Sure he'd had wounds cleaned before, this one just seemed to smart that little bit extra. Perhaps he needed more time to recover from the outburst than he realised as the wave of fatigue hit him like a bus. His eyelids were heavy and the warmth was too comforting.  
What the agent wasn't aware of however, was how the cleaning pad had come away black. The wound, though not infected, still appeared darker than the rest of his skin. Something Excella and Wesker had neglected to mention, or perhaps even notice.

Wesker set the agent back to rest, gently lowering him back into the confines of his duvet. The cleaning pad was taken to Excella for further testing and Leon slipped into another fitful slumber.

 

 

_It was rare to see her grace my chambers. For a long time, I believed she thought it was beneath her. That if she were to set foot in my 'realm' it would somehow taint her with an affliction. The hatred that she felt for her position was inflicted upon myself for many months. She was naïve, we were both captives in his sick game._

Leon heard the accented voice speaking. Narrating again. Once more he was a guest, an unseen observer as he watched a scene unfold before him. Ocán was fixing a tear in fabric, he couldn't see exactly what it was, but he assumed it was a dress. One of the many costumes that she was told to wear for her nightly performances.  
The door opened. It was slow and quiet, cautious to the point of tangible fear. She watched with intrigue, her face remaining neutral even when the Lord's youthful wife appeared. The Lady closed the door behind her, searching for a lock or a latch. Ocán had been granted no such luxury.  
“You are a witch, are you not?” The Lady spoke in haste. It was graceless compared to the way she moved. Everything appeared calculated about her gestures, but her attitude betrayed her.  
“I am incapable of magicks as you think of them.” Ocán simply rolled her eyes, her attention remaining on the needlework.

Despite the Lady's station, Ocán didn't appear to have much patience for her. Although that might have had something to do with the ignorant nature of the Lady's question.  
“But you _are_ a witch, are you not? I have seen your murmurings, I have seen you create ungodly things-”  
“You are a simple creature if you believe what I do to be anything more than sleight of hand. Illusions, trickery. There is no 'magic' involved.” She paused. “I assume you have some point to these accusations of witchcraft? Are you trying to turn your husband against me? To get him to order my death? If so I will accept so I might be free from this hell.”

“I want to kill him.”  
Ocán stopped, glancing the other up and down. “What you speak of would count as treason. I didn't think you brave enough for such talk.”  
“You must have thought of it yourself too. The way he leers at you like one of his marks. We aren't women, we are beasts to conquer to him. Such a man is monstrous and wicked.”  
“You believe I have the means for such a thing?” Ocán laughed. Astounded and equally amused by her desperation.  
“If there are two of us trying to kill him then we have a better chance.”  
“My chance died with my husband.” Ocán hissed, “You recall, the man who you killed as he was trying to escape?”  
“He was using the passages-- I thought he was--” The Lady paused, her fists clenched. “In such a place where we are forced to believe we are alone allegiances are vital. If you have nothing to kill him with then surely you have something that would let us outlive him. He is old and reaching his twilight years. If we cannot kill him then we must endure him.”  
“Which is what I have been doing. I am not spineless, merely biding my time.”  
“You are not his primary target. You do not see him the way I do--” The Lady pursed her lips. Slowly she drew up the sleeves of her dress. Around her wrists were deep red angry marks. Rope burns, at her ankles bruises that resembled shackles.

Ocán gritted her teeth.  
“Your desperation doesn't endear me. I feel pity for you, but-”  
“Once he kills me he will come for you. I am all that is keeping you safe.”

  
Leon watched silently. The two pitted against one another for the sake of the Lord's control over them. If he feared them working together... Ocán shifted and got to her feet. On the dresser was a jar sat perfectly in a small beam of light. In the jar was a flower. It was a reddish brown colour, with some resemblance to a poppy, however the petals were thicker, fleshier. It was as though a lily had been cross-pollinated somewhere along the lines of the flower's genealogy. It was oddly pretty. In a slightly horrifying way.

 

“When I travelled across West Africa, we stopped in a region known as Kijuju. We were welcomed by the locals. We exchanged stories. My father was mystified when we were told their elders were almost two hundred years old. They trusted us with their secret.” Ocán lifted the jar. “In sacred grounds, these flowers grew. It made monsters of the animals that fed on them. But not all. Some were deemed 'worthy' and they transcended their life expectancy. They could heal from wounds that should have killed them.”  
“What is it?”  
“A flower. It has the ability to cure or kill. I could prepare you a sample if you're that desperate. Drink the broth I make and see what happens. But know that you could die. And as you say, if you die nothing is stopping him from coming for me.” She set the jar back into the light and cocked her head. “It would indeed be a deeply selfish act.”  
“Survival is inherently selfish.”  
“Very well.” Ocán seemed to sneer at her response. “Slip away later tonight when he slumbers. It will be prepared.”

 

The vision faded and Leon was left in blinding white light. Glimpses of the following events flashed for a second at a time. He saw the broth that was made from some petals and leaves. Soon it was more than just the single plant in the jar, there were several. The Lady didn't appear so pale, she had more confidence. The Lord was suddenly fixated upon her radiance, but whatever he did to her didn't stay for long. It wasn't any better, not really. If anything he seemed thrilled by her inability to remain hurt. It was a terrible decision. The violence grew worse, but the evidence never remained in the morning.

 

 _What was supposed to help only hurt. Funny how her fragility aided her survival before. But it wasn't enough. Even now expecting their heir, the Lord was unable to contain himself. For you see, the effects of the broth became shared. Each time he took her he too became afflicted. Like those unworthy creatures he became monstrous, but a monster that retained its human guise._  
Leon felt his stomach twist.

 

It happened so quickly. Ocán alone and then the door burst open. The Lord had a glint in his eye. He didn't bother to close the door as he pinned her to the bed. She cried out and screamed, yet no one was brave enough to save her. All who lived within the castle knew what he was capable of. As the Lady had said, once he'd had his fill of her, Ocán was next. He felt her fear. He could taste her tears, the tang of blood in the back of her mouth as he beat her to silence her. Her body was no longer hers.

 

 

Leon awoke with a start. It was, unfortunately, becoming a regular occurrence, waking up and throwing up. His eyes stung, it felt as though he hadn't slept a wink. He could almost feel each and every bruise that Ocán had endured. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. It'd been far too vivid. Whereas before he'd been an observer on Ocán's memories, this was an entirely new experience. He'd been her. He'd seen everything through her eyes. He'd felt his rage and sadism.  
His grip on the bedside drew the colour from his knuckles as he retched. Despite having an empty stomach his body still found something to produce. The black mass. A defensive mechanism. To protect him. It was hard to think of it as that, especially as it tasted like burning rubber and dirt. A deep-seated bitterness that burned on the way up.

Thankfully, or not (he couldn't really tell, there was never anything dignified about throwing up), he wasn't alone. Wesker grabbed Excella by the waist and lifted her away from the growing puddle, keeping her close to him.  
“Get some clean sheets, I'll deal with this.” Wesker uttered softly.

She slipped out of the tent, leaving the two alone. Though Leon doubted that that was entirely any skin off her back. She had a stronger stomach than he would have given a suit credit for.  
“I'm getting real sick of this--” Leon groaned, the corners of his eyes prickling with tears of exertion. His stomach felt as though it had folded on itself.  
“Did something happen?”  
“Just...” He paused, even trying to put it into words made that feeling creep up the back of his throat. No matter how much he'd tried to wake up he couldn't. It was a message. Perhaps even a threat. Or his mind had been playing tricks on him. Working him up with it's own issues and muddling the message. “I know how the virus got here... and how they all got it. She was gifted it in Kijuju. The flower.”  
Wesker leant back, his face settling into that unreadable blankness. It occurred to Leon that Wesker had never mentioned to him about the host for the virus was from a flower. Just the name of the place it came from.  
He gave a low hiccup and cleared his throat before rubbing his mouth on the back of his hand. He tried to study Wesker's face, get anything from him. But he was simply observing him. Listening to him. He was always so quick to add his own two cents, but this time? _He still feels guilty. He thinks he caused this._  
“I found out how Ocán got the virus. It got bad. It was like I was her. I saw it through her eyes- I couldn't wake up.” Leon muttered, his eyes lowering to the thick tar-like biomass splattered on the floor. “It.. got a little too real for me. Too close to...”

 

Wesker noted the way the agent trailed off. His lack of will to make eye contact, let alone speak on the matter for a prolonged time. Viruses were transferred by blood or bodily fluids. An attack? Leon had withstood attacks before, the concept of torture didn't appear to bother him - no doubt he'd been trained how to endure it during his time with the military. Jack had been much the same.  
To be shaken up to the point of his own body feeling like it was an attack on him, however, meant it had to be personal.

His file.

The Tyrant recalled when he'd first captured Leon. His psyche records, how his demeanour had changed after Pueblo. After Racoon City and South America, a coping method for his PTSD was through sex. He'd found the transcript awkward to read. How Leon seemed so wrapped up in shame of his new found behaviour. Berated himself for switching off when he slept with someone or indulged himself. In his words 'everything finally goes quiet'. It was no surprise, the endorphins that were released after orgasm naturally raised his mood.

However, after Pueblo he stated in a session that he couldn't any longer. The notes the therapist had made had a series of speculations as to why it was, some innocent and as a result of a different way to manifest his trauma. The other stated an association of further guilt. Believing that his desire for others lead to their death, meeting with Jack after his disappearance who was then on the opposing side.  
Both the therapist and Excella had spoken of his unwillingness to speak about Jack. How he clammed up and became anxious. Jack had done something.

  
“You don't have to talk about it pet.” Wesker shook his head, gathering up the mass into an old blanket. “Excella.. mentioned something to me weeks ago, when you first arrived. Your file also speculated-”  
“-Wait what?”  
“I don't know the full details, she doesn't either, but I'm going on the assumption that Jack over-stepped the mark.” The tyrant paused, a hand was raised in a placating manner whilst the other maintained a tight grip on the soiled blanket. He considered his words carefully. “Such a thing was never an option on my orders. I'm interested in science, not grievous bodily harm and a disregard for personal boundaries. That was no doubt Saddler's influence... You two were... _close_ before?”

  
The way he spoke made Leon feel as though he'd been punched in the gut all over again. It may have come out as something blasé but it felt like a thousand accusations. Close. How did Wesker even know? Did Jack talk about him? But why? He'd... he'd resented him. They'd left on amicable terms, how was he to know what was really going on in Jack's head-  
  
“Pet.” Wesker said loudly. Leon swallowed thickly, catching his gaze. He felt blanched like his entire face was going gaunt. That much was hunger he knew, but the itching bundle of nerves that skittered up his spine and neck telling him to run or come out with a million excuses felt like whiplash. Wesker wasn't going to judge him. Perhaps. That's what logic dictated. But the roller-coaster of anxiety and shame told him otherwise.

“...Yeah.. well I _thought_ we were.” He couldn't help the sardonic laugh that slipped out. He recoiled, shifting back on the bed, the covers pulled up over his knees. He wanted the cot to swallow him up so he wouldn't have to deal with it. The same mantra that had gone through his head at the time. How could he have done this? What made him hate him so much- He shook his head and sucked on his lower lip. His teeth digging into the flesh. All he could taste was the lingering bitterness of the black sludge. “Then he tried to god damn kill me.”

“Is it possible you're missing pieces of the bigger puzzle?”  
“...The fuck did you just say?”  
“Jack spoke highly of you. He also wasn't the sort to employ such measures.” Wesker paused. “I was... _aware_ that something had gone wrong. For all her faults, Ada, was still looking out for you. She said that she found you after your fight with him, Saddler had compromised him.”  
  
He could recall Jack's face perfectly. The way he looked at him. The way his hands clasped his waist. How his body had reacted. How he'd missed- How could he miss him after that? After using him like that.  
  
“Can we please _not._ ”  
“It nearly compromised you too.”  
“I'm fucking compromised right now, don't- you have no idea what you're talking about-”  
“You can't pretend that it didn't happen. Repression-”  
“You of all people don't get to talk to me about being repressed.” He spat. The agent could feel himself shaking almost uncontrollably as Wesker kept speaking. It was a raw nerve he insisted on picking at. And for what? Curiosity? Satisfaction? Wesker wasn't the sort for acts of benevolence. It was all for his sake rather than any concept of greater good or concern.“Don't you start with me.”  
“And just what do you intend on doing? Pretending it's in the past? That it doesn't cause you pain? For one who talks about doing the right thing, it only seems to be on matters that suit you. It's interfering with you and your ability to function, it is a problem that needs to be-”  
  


Wesker didn't see him move. Despite the agent being predominantly right-handed, Wesker had forgotten that he'd trained himself to be ambidextrous. The left hand connected with the side of his face with a greater force than he thought Leon capable of – especially with a damaged shoulder. It didn't move him like it would someone else. But it certainly gave him pause for thought. The bandages wrapped around Leon's shoulder grew darker, no doubt the stitches were torn from such a vicious motion. Silence fell between them. Wesker watched him continue shaking before his composure of rage began to crumble. There was no mistaking the misery behind such an expression. Betrayal. Frustration. How he was so like her.

 

He recalled the night he found Excella soaked to the bone, bare-footed and tracking mud through the pristine hallways of his office. Heartbreak. The nature of their heartbreak was different. Hers being the realisation that one can't always trust one's parents to look out for their children. Leon's was the betrayal of a comrade in arms.. probably even a lover. Jack had never deigned to go into much detail of his involvement with the agent, but there was no mistaking the jealousy of Ada whenever she mentioned Leon. He may not have been the most practised in human interactions, but he wasn't a fool. It was a cruel irony that he could pass such judgement on others' relations and yet refuse to acknowledge his own. Implications were always so difficult.

 

“You're right. That was wrong of me. I said too much and over-stepped the line.” Wesker got to his feet and grimaced. “I'll get this cleared up.... I shall leave you in peace before I cause any further damage.”  
Leon didn't reply, his bottom lip trembling as he folded over himself.

 

The worst thing about it all was the feeling that didn't go away. That he enjoyed it. That he missed him and it was a reunion. But, he knew it wasn't. That hadn't been the Jack he knew years ago. The Jack who'd taught him more than their commanding officer before they set off to South America. That'd taught him how to use a bow all because he'd joked about how archaic it was. There was no secret he'd been conflicted about their meeting again after all those years apart. But it hadn't been what he'd wanted. What he'd hoped for. He felt guilty. Like it was his fault. Which wasn't unheard of for victims to blame themselves like they could have done something more.... But it wasn't that simple. Even still.. why did he blame himself for his death? Nothing added up. Nothing made sense. Nothing about what happened in Pueblo made sense. First Luis, then that poor helicopter pilot and then Jack. Who else was he going to get killed?

He didn't care to stifle the noises of pain he made. He'd had enough of keeping quiet for the sake of others.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And if I stay home, I don't know  
> There'll be so much that I'll have to let go  
> You're disappearing all the time  
> But I still see you in the light  
> For you, the shadows fight  
> And it's beautiful but there's that tug in the sight  
> I must stop time traveling, you're always on my mind
> 
> You're always on my mind  
> You're always on my mind
> 
> And I never minded being on my own  
> Then something broke in me and I wanted to go home  
> To be where you are  
> But even closer to you, you seem so very far  
> And now I'm reaching out with every note I sing  
> And I hope it gets to you on some pacific wind  
> Wraps itself around you and whispers in your ear  
> Tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here"  
> Florence + the Machine - Wish That You Were Here  
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	11. Unforeseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesker confides in Excella and asks that she tend to the mistake he made with Leon. She obliges, but not after getting her say in first. Conflictions rise and loyalties are tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Times up, I'm alright  
> The fire's out, the stars are burning  
> Don't speak, say something my love  
> The walls are cracking, our hearts are falling  
> God knows I didn't see this coming  
> Can you hear the sound of skies crying?  
> My love, my love
> 
> Oh your love keeps me in chains  
> Just like the river I come back again  
> Oh your fear keeps me right here  
> You'll be the arrow, the arrow
> 
> The wind's changed  
> This love was begging  
> To feel the same  
> But you gave me nothing  
> I'm here again  
> The sky is crying above, above  
> If you told me then  
> What I know now  
> I'd be long gone, but I'm here somehow  
> Can you hear the sound?  
> The sky fell down on us, on us"

The Tyrant breezed through the camp. His soldiers didn't dare to make or maintain eye contact with him. He knew Leon hadn't been quiet nor would be care if he made a scene, compared to what he was used to dealing with it felt all so trivial. It wasn't something that could be neatly tied up into a box and set aside for a more appropriate time. But if he was handed right over to Simmons after returning from Pueblo there was no doubt it would have caused more damage to his recovery.  


In his life, he'd learned it was safer to keep quiet. If something hurt you, you kept it to yourself, if others knew it'd caused pain it would be exploited. People were callous and uncaring. Yet Leon was open about his distress. Rather than back down after others attempted to use that pain against him, it became his armour. In some ways he could call it admirable, if garish. But he had once again over-stepped the mark, what had meant to serve as comfort turned into an interrogation and must have come across as accusations. He wasn't suited to this. He'd been trained to be too logical. When faced with a problem he only knew how to give solutions rather than consider that a solution wasn't the goal. There was also the matter of Leon hadn't invited the conversation. He gritted his teeth as he passed the campfire and threw the sheets onto the pyre.

Wesker stood and watched as the flames licked at the edges of the sheets. As they reached the biomass, it roared. It crackled and spat viciously but ultimately was overwhelmed by the inferno. The heat was pleasant at the very least. His arms folded tightly across his chest, eyes narrowed as he glared into the depths of the fire.  
Part of him regretted sending Krauser to Pueblo. He was a pawn nonetheless, but he bordered on blindly loyal. He would have been useful for further missions. But in Jack's quest to prove what he already knew about Ada, it'd resulted in his death. If Ada hadn't killed him, would he have survived Saddler? Perhaps not. From what the reports said as Saddler was the master Plaga he could control and manipulate. Leon had also stated in his report that if he hadn't killed Jack then Saddler would have done it himself. Perhaps there was a twisted element of kindness in there... Although Ada's actions hadn't been altruistic for Jack. Purely for Leon.

A wild card with a soft spot. How he thought he could make her suffer through Leon. Rapidly that plan was getting derailed.

 

“Albert.” Excella's hands tentatively slid on his shoulders. That cautious way she tested the water. He tensed. It wasn't because of her presence, it was knowing that she was accommodating for his personal boundaries.  
“I need you to go Leon. Calm him down.” Wesker said flatly. He unfolded his arms and set them into his pockets. Excella's arms looped around the crook of his elbow, though her brow raised.  
“What happened?”  
“I provoked him. He had another vision that aligned with his own trauma and left him shaken. I tried to soothe but it didn't work.”  
“You can't keep doing this.” His fist clenched as he heard the weary sigh in her tone. “I'm not here to fix your messes with him. It was your decision to bring him into this-”  
“I have done my fair share of fixing your messes throughout the years.” He cast his glance to Excella, studying her features. “Like fixing the bridge with your parents you almost burned? I'm merely asking you to return the favour. We need him on side if we're to complete this mission. Perhaps we'll have a replacement for Jack after.”  
“So he can end up like him too?” Excella made a small noise of distaste. She loosened her grip and stepped back. “If I'm to keep fixing your messes, at least learn from your mistakes.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“There needs to be a balance..”  
“You've done an awful lot of talking to him, talking about things that are above what he needs to know. At first, I didn't see the benefit in it, but he is a bleeding heart, you know how to play him the way we need him-” It felt like he was trying to placate her too, but from the way her expression twisted he could tell it wasn't working. It was uncomfortable. He knew if there wasn't such a strained tone then Excella would say that he was projecting. He thought himself calm but the more he spoke the more bitter his tone grew.  
  
“I'm _not_ playing him. Not like you. You dragged him into this on a whim so you could get back at Ada. You call him Pet and then I find you've beaten him black and blue because you lost your temper.” She spat, “You keep saying you want to distance yourself from Spencer, then you're going to have to stop acting like him. People are not pawns and Leon is too useful for such treatment.”  
  
“I think you've gone soft on him.” Wesker couldn't help the sneer. She should have known to not press at that. No. That wasn't _her_ fault- “If you're compromised and unable to be utilitarian about this-”  
“Enough. One minute you tell me to be there for him and the next you mock me for it. You don't get both. You don't get to demand my services and deride me in the next breath. You don't get to use me whenever it suits you.” She gave him a shove, teeth bared. “We're in this _together_. I'm here because I believe in what you want to do, but you're in danger of doing the things you promised yourself you wouldn't. You want him loyal to you, you are going to have to work for it. Unless I really am only on loan to you until we have control of Tricell completely-”

The two locked eyes. Her cheeks were flushed. It was always a fear she had, and yet here she screamed it for the world to hear. It must have knocked something within him. Even within the dim light flickering, she could see that he blanched. His silence was damning. After all this time. Alex was still trying to cut her from the picture.

  
“I asked you to do it because you weren't raised to be an emotionally stunted lab rat.” Wesker rumbled flatly in response. His lip curled to show his teeth. He couldn't stomach incompetency, least of all within himself. And here he was, faced with an ultimatum he had no part in. One where he held no valuable cards to play.“As flawed as your parents are, you are capable of seeing people beyond their uses because of them. -What is _wrong_ with you today?”  
“You mock me for being soft on him and yet here you are brooding because you hurt him. You didn't even bat an eyelash at leading STARS to their deaths, but faced with Leon you're only now conflicted? When did this talk of him being a double agent for us start? You wanted to kill him when we were done. It just leads one to thinking-”  
  
“Excella-” Wesker growled and tried to turn away from her. She wasn't having it.  
  
“I get it.” Excella gripped his upper arms, her tone softening at the edges. She hated herself in that instance. How he'd laid his plans out so plainly and yet she was clinging to him so desperately. “I am, unlike you, not mocking you for it. Maybe it's time to be an adult and face the fact of the matter. The plan has changed, but we have new opportunities ahead of us because of it. Don't resent it, _embrace_ it.” _Embrace both of us. Don't leave me in the filth. Don't abandon me._  
“If you're implying that I may be growing fond of Kennedy-”  
“That's exactly it. Am I wrong?” _You're also fond of me too and Alex can't stand that._  
“I believe you're reading too much into it.”

 

The bristle was visible, but Excella couldn't ignore the feeling. She knew his tells, even if he liked to pretend that he didn't. What was eating away at her was anxiety. Logically speaking she had more time before Alex could convince her to be discarded. More time to sway him. If anything, the fact that he came to her asking her to fix this mess was entirely an indicator that he cared enough. He was backed into a corner, something he wasn't used to. At least not for a long time in a way that left him feeling powerless and at the mercy of another. He'd put too much into using Leon for their means and now he was paying for the miscalculation. It was as it had been with her all those years ago. Still. He wouldn't let himself be bound by another's whim. Whims were leverage.  
“You're right in some ways. The issue of Jack needs to be addressed, I believe that he will be far more content if we deal with it. But we can't force this upon him.” Excella exhaled heavily, gently smoothing the creases she'd put into Wesker's suit sleeves. “These things need delicacy.”  
“Which is why I believe you better suited to this matter.” The expression of weariness was creeping back. The more they pushed ahead with their plans the more she saw it eating away at him. He used to be so sure of everything they were doing.  
  
“I know. I know. This wasn't what we'd planned. It was.. just 'spitballing'? We can work with this. Besides, what if what we've brought upon him is the key we've been looking for all this time?”  
“Don't indulge her-”  
“I mean it.” Excella's eyes had brightened, a childish wonder and excitement that he'd always been weak for since they met. Her fascination and willingness to pursue all avenues of science, even the unconventional means. It'd been what made her such an asset. Alex and he had been brought up in a more restrictive manner. As much as there was familial resentment towards Excella, there was no denying her value.

He took another steadying breath and clasped her hand. He hesitated, fighting back a great many urges of things he wanted to do. Hold her hand to his face, be close-  
“We shall worry about that when it arises, but if he is, then get to him sooner than later. I shall study further our findings. See if this is at all viable.”  
She hummed and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before slipping away. Her silhouette soon faded from the reaches of the flames, swallowed by the pitch darkness.

 

 

Despite believing himself to be making a ruckus, it seemed that even with intent Leon couldn't cry out as he wanted. There was every temptation there to begin destroying Wesker's side of the tent, lash out and punish him for what he'd done. Jack would have still been alive if it hadn't been for him. For both of them. Wesker had knowingly sent him to his death. Would he meet the same fate soon? If not, what made him so special?  
Instead, he settled for unlacing his boot and throwing it to the foot of his bed.

“He has that effect, doesn't he?” Excella asked softly as she entered the tent. Unlike the last time, she didn't come bearing a bottle of wine or such. Talking over drinks made it easier, or at least he thought it did. He couldn't tell anymore. All he did know at that point was he was becoming aware of just how much Excella saw him when he was a mess.

“He's... shit-”  
“He is indeed a shit when it suits him.” She gave a stunted chuckle and nodded. “I apologise for whatever it was he did. Tact is not a strong point of his. The fighting comes far easier than open communication.”  
“Yeah..” Leon rubbed his eye, trying to avoid looking in her direction. “I'd gotten that impression.”  
“But, I agree with what he was trying to tell you. Things went terribly with Jack, but that was never our intention. If I may, I'd like to continue this and tell you about some of the things I learned about him.”

Leon gave her a cautious once over. Excella was Wesker's diplomat, that much was obvious, but he was hesitant. She was offering his input, he could, in theory, turn her away. But the nagging curiosity in the back of his head wouldn't let this drop. If he allowed her to continue then it could give him some insight into what changed Jack so drastically.

“Can I tap out whenever I need to?”  
“Of course.”  
“...Alright.”

\-------

Perhaps leaving him in the interrogation room was a step too far. But Wesker's instructions were clear. He wasn't to know where he was until absolute loyalty was sworn. The base itself was off the grid through the exchange of money into the right hands and a pleasant little smile and some threats here and there. Jack was a new variable. But he was at rock bottom, the easiest place to twist people to your own means. It was a cruelty, but necessary. Like so much of what they did. "Major, Jack Krauser. Aka... Silverdax." Excella slipped into the room with some files in hand, a cup of coffee in the other. Her lips tugged into an amused smirk at the codename.

Jack's look remained stony, grim to the uninitiated. The mention of his old codename did little to unsour his disposition. "Is a glorified secretary supposed to make me more comfortable?"

"I'm more than the secretary, darling." She smiled sweetly but a promise of hellfire lingered in the way her nose wrinkled. It was too nice. "I'm the dragon that pays the bills. You want Albert Wesker, you have to prove yourself to me first." She settled in the chair opposite him. The files were lowered to the table without a hint of noise despite the size of the stack. "So, impress me, _coglione_."

He suspected the files were a scare tactic. No way all of that was relevant, but he had no other rules to play by for the moment. "You know the codename, means you've seen the decorations. No matter which one of you is the boss here, Wesker wanted _me_. That should speak enough unless you want to put a gun in hand and let me do the job."

"A great deal of people want to get to Wesker, not all of them have the best of intentions. As it stands we are currently dealing with one such loose canon and I refuse to put another on the payroll." Her brow quirked. He was sure of himself, which was both encouraging and frustrating. It could go one of two ways, cocksure and an idiot, or just the right level. It was so rare to find one with a balance. "I've read up, I want transparency. You cannot blame me given the purpose of our organisation." Excella crossed her legs, and lent back giving another sip to her coffee. "Wesker may want you but we want to avoid any disappointments."

"That's... sensible, if nothing else." He had to concede the point. Dangerous men draw dangerous crowds, and even Jack himself couldn't totally count himself out of that number. Not until there was, as aptly put, transparency. "I've been part of a number of dangerous missions and inspired enough loyalty in my men to pull most of them out the other side. BOW's I'm... less well versed in, but a dead plant monster in South America kinda speaks for itself." He shuffled about, giving out his resume always felt kind of forced. "I'm a loyal soldier. I'm not built for failure."

"And yet here we are." She flicked her tongue over her lips, eyes drawn to the soldier's arm. "Whilst it wasn't a failure, you did see your mission through to the end, was it really worth giving up a part of yourself in the process?"

 

Jack drew in a deep breath. The knuckles on his good hand whitened as it gripped the chair handle tight, resisting the urge to fling it into her smug olive face. She went right for the jugular at first sight. Less a dragon, more a viper. "It was a setback. Not a _failure_. I paid a cost for the sake of the mission. As long as I come out alive, it's not your concern, is it?"

"I didn't say it was." She lilted. "Someone viewed it as enough of a failure. Perhaps yourself then? You push yourself because you want to deliver results.. useful but a little too much push, maybe? But you see, it is our concern." She flipped open one of the files revealing Jack's medical review upon his return. "We need our operatives that we hold in regard to be in top fighting form. We aren't paying our men for suicide missions. Not all the time at least. There will be instances where it's necessary but we have a special division for such types. Wounds like yours would have been easily healed if you were with us. It's still possible, it will just take a little longer."

"That's exactly why I'm here." He put bluntly. "I'm not going to come this far and give up this much just to keel over on your payroll. Wesker was willing to put me back in the fight, and I don't intend to leave it again." Her words hung on him though. Who failed? Who thought he had failed? "I don't want to linger on what was. There is no road back there now."

"Determination." She hummed, less in an approving way more in acknowledgement. Anyone could make claims, it was whether he was to prove himself or not that was the real question. "Cut-throat too, but to know where we're going we need to acknowledge the past. Tell me did you enjoy working for SOCOM?"

She had this air about her, it made every question seem loaded to the teeth is a thousand meanings he couldn't comprehend. Still, she returned everything to his old life. "I had a purpose. I had something I was good at and could actually help people. Came with its faults I suppose, who hasn't had an asshole superior? It was a good job, good life but..." He paused, fumbling for a word to avoid bringing up his leaving. "I have no regrets. Not when I was part of it, and not now."  


"Always the assholes that get promoted isn't it? Overlook the people that want to do the job. But I suppose it's because they realise they need people who can do the jobs at their level. Easier to make hot air rise." She snorted and shifted. Not that she couldn't relate. Everyone that worked for Wesker had some sort of long-held grudge against those in power. "What makes you hesitate, mm? If you were so happy why are you here now?" Excella paused and leant forward on the table. "No one waiting for you? A man as dedicated to his team must have a few friends... maybe _more_ they left behind? Messy breakup?"

Jack found himself stifling a chuckle, despite the circumstance. Her persistence at this point was growing irksome, but he had to give her points for effort. "No one who'd miss me, I'm sure. Maybe one, but thanks to the chopper wreck I'm sure he'll have mourned off any sentiment he had left." In truth, he didn't like having to cast off a good friend so abruptly. Had he felt any other paths open, would he have..? No. This isn't the time. "I was happy when I was allowed to fight. One blow shouldn't have taken that away from me, and with all of... well _this_ in the world I knew it didn't have to be that way. Happy as I was, I wasn't gonna stay that way."  


"I only ask because as you're aware having loose ends can be troublesome. We all have our pasts that loom over us, driving us forward. More irritating are those that come looking for you. Whilst we could deal with that, we wouldn't want to create any bad blood if such a thing were to arise." Another pause as she shifted. "There is a mission that Wesker wants you specifically for. As you have no official affiliation with us you can go undercover easily. There is a virus--- well.. it is a parasite that is located on an isolated island in Spain. We were contacted by a scientist looking for amnesty. In exchange for his salvation, we get a sample of this parasite. But the catch is he wants the cult taken out."

Suddenly, he was getting somewhere. A somewhere fraught with viral monsters and madmen, but this was what he'd signed up for. "A scientist in knee-deep with a parasite cult? Sure, why not. At least bringing the lot of them down means we don't have to be too subtle when it comes to extraction" He shuffled in his seat, resting his chin on a set of latticed fingers. "This why you were brought on board? Having someone who speaks the language is a hell of an aid to have on comms."

"Succhiare il mio cazzo---. I am Italian, not Spanish." Excella spat. "I was onboard before you even dreamt about working for Wesker. I am his patron. He only operates because I see fit to finance him. You may work for him on paper but I am your real employer." It took a moment to calm herself. Her teeth raked over her lips, hands bent like claws as she gripped at her mug. It'd be easy to throw it over him. There'd be no repercussions. But his ignorance didn't warrant such an explosive reaction. "I may speak the language, but that is because Europeans value communication and don't expect everyone to accommodate their laziness." A quip definitely meant to scathe. "Luis Sera is aware of how dangerous the cult is. Their leader is a megalomaniac that desires world domination. We are to stop that from happening. But you will need a bargaining chip to be accepted."

"O....kay then." The venom was clear, even if he couldn't understand it. Evidently, both of them had learned how to push each other's buttons, and one of them had put up with some decidedly more ignorant Americans than the other. "So, get in close with the cult, kill them all, extract Sera and the sample when the opportunity presents itself." He ran through the scenario in his head. Espionage wasn't a speciality of his, but he could form a good story and an irked ex-marine with a grudge. Foreign sounding surname might even help sell the lie, but there was one area Jack came up lacking. "In terms of bargaining chips, I'm assuming Wesker won't want to part with samples of his own... what could possibly get this cults attention besides that?"

"Good. Now that we have established that." She adjusted her hair back into place, still watching his every move. The saccharine sweetness she'd opened with was gone. Give them an inch and they will take a mile. "We don't want to give him anything to add to the arsenal. Sera has told us already of the things he's produced for them. However, a figurehead may be all he needs.. something of a sacrificial lamb for the cause?"

 

She felt more genuine now. That alone was enough to get Jack's mindset forward and on the business at hand. "A sacrifice... If he's looking for a show of power, he needs to hit something that hurts his enemy. He has the nuke but nothing to drop it on." He pondered, closing his eyes and sifting through what he knew of tactics. Now, unlike before, he had a more lenient leash-holder. The less ethical option had presented itself and crystallised slowly in his mind. "A hostage. We find his enemy, take their leader or one of their VIP's, and hand them over. Our bargaining chip and a chance to destabilise one of their targets as well as one of our own, if there's any cross of the two."

Her expression split into the slightest trace of a smile. Hostages were a business that was considered underhanded, but they got the job done. "You realise that this may create hostilities from both sides to us if we were found out? He holds a great resentment for the US, though what country doesn't? Who is more powerful than the president? However, that may be a little too hot for us to handle. What about.. say his daughter? Do you have any access or know of means you might exploit to catch her?"

"We're part of an organisation centred around the most infamous bioterrorist on the face of the planet, I don't think 'more hostilities' really qualify here." Strategy on that large a scale wasn't Jacks place. He was concerned with the smaller, more intimate mechanics of a ground war, how the individuals dealt with a given scenario rather than the groups. "Should I get discovered, that just means we transition from espionage to open combat, nothing to trip over." He considered the girl as a target. Sure, the secret service would be crawling over any chinks in the Commander-in-Chiefs armour, but she was a young girl. She needed some measure of freedom. The key was finding it. "If she's in college or at school, that's one opportunity. A compromise in the secret service would be a godsend, but..." his thoughts drifted to a friend. A friend he knew who was working in the higher echelons of the government. He pushed them aside. This wasn't about him. "... I'm afraid I've got nothing."

She noticed the pause in his train of thought. It clearly wasn't just 'nothing'. The mention of a friend who would mourn him, there were attachments there. Any link could be exploited, but there were to be no surprises. "Nothing or don't want to?"

Again, she persisted. Fine. Straight talking. "Not _going_ to. That life I left behind has every chance of becoming a problem for you if there's any suspicion I'm still alive. Even through me, you won't get him to compromise, guys a Boy Scout. And even if I'm here, working for you? I'm not stabbing him in the back for your benefit." The most resistance to his new environment he'd felt since stepping into the helicopter, he mused. He hoped it wouldn't become a habit.

She cocked her head. Almost like the way a predator analysed its prey whilst circling. She'd found another potential sore spot to use. Disappointment, loyalties, fear of failure. He was the perfect soldier but his alliances weren't with the expected powers that be. How could one person have such a power over him. A decorated military soldier... She couldn't keep the smile from reaching her lips. How _quaint_. Perhaps there was more. She leant back and raised a brow. "More loyalty to a comrade in arms than your superiors? Even after they betrayed you, you still hold him dear? That speaks volumes, Jack. Who is this Boy Scout? Why does he mean so much to you?"

"He's... call him an old war buddy." He relented, a sigh on his lips. The familiar tone she was striking made him wish she was swearing at him again. "Leon Kennedy. He was with me during Operation Javier. Didn't take him for much as look at him, but he stuck by me and I by him. The commanders will throw soldiers around, put them where they need to be, I couldn't care less about that. A man who steps into the field, loads up and fights, even if he's scared as hell? That gets my respect. Leon went beyond that." It felt strange, speaking openly about the one thing he wished he could keep from all that he'd thrown away. Nostalgic, even.

Leon's name was amongst the list of survivors of Raccoon. He'd also been somewhat of a thorn in Wesker's side during the incident with the Veronica Virus' extraction. Redfield's sister had radioed him to track him down. Indirect but efficient in ways no one else was. Ada had described him as practically a genius. Especially for one so young. But described as a Boy Scout? Blindly ideal perhaps. "Went beyond that?" She gestured for him to continue

He couldn't figure out why she continued to prod. "He proved to be a friend. He cared. That's... not actually that common for the military types, although I guess he wasn't strictly military at first." He rested his hand on his temple, leaning on the chair as his fingers framed his face. "We were flown back through a couple of bases, and off the field he was different. Social. Pissed off a few Quartermasters on the way too." Again he found his mouth creasing to stifle a chuckle. The nostalgia was wearing away at him. "Why so focused on him? Is there something you're expected me to say?"

"Everyone has baggage, I want to see if yours fits with our collective." Excella smirked. She shifted once more, crossing her legs the opposite way in a less theatrical fashion than she had done before. There wasn't the need to entice, not that it had even worked. "Despite what you may think about us we all have something we're fighting for here. Even someone. Tell me more about him."

The sincerity there was a surprise, to say the least. She had him talking so much with so little implied effort, it was honestly impressive. "After bringing down Javier, we were en route to another base in South America with his daughter in tow. It was a couple of chopper rides later that we hit more familiar soil and I saw him, the real him, unfold..."

\-----

The message had been received loud and clear when they reached the base. He'd felt the colour drain from his face like he'd been slapped several times over. Manuela was to be taken in for 'research purposes'. He'd heard the term before. It was when they'd dragged Sherry from his care and forced him into working with SOCOM. It was happening again. Everything he'd worked for, to try and save someone who'd been exploited... and he'd just handed her from the frying pan and right into the fire. Leon's mouth pressed into a line. He could feel the shaking in his arms, trying desperately to suppress it because he knew if he didn't give Simmons his most pleasant smile it'd be hell for Sherry. Of course. He didn't say a word, just nodded. Trying to avoid looking at Jack as his arm was to be tended to. _This is on you_.

Jack thought that after a week in combat with someone, you pretty much had them down pat. Right now Leon was proving him dead wrong. There was something markedly wrong with his demeanour but Jack couldn't place it. Checking with the medic that his arm was at the very least stable, he shuffled off the gurney and made for his comrade. "Maybe I'm out of line here but... don't forget this was a successful mission. Hidalgo's daughter is in the right hands and not dead. This could've been a damn sight worse."

He sucked on his lips, and shook his head, watching Simmons walk away. "No, she isn't." Leon laughed. It was breathless and short, more like an exhale. "Psht- no she isn't." He rubbed his fingers against his palms, dragging them to feel the calloused skin scratch his palms. Something, anything to keep him rooted. His posture was rigid. Shoulders tensed and back uncomfortably straight. He couldn't be there. He had to leave. He rubbed his face, feeling that scratch along his mouth and chin.

Jack took a breath. This might be harder work than he thought. "Either you're telling me we should have left her there for whatever buzzards would've swiped her up, or there's something worse eating away at you." There wasn't a response. Needling wasn't his speciality, but soldiers that were hurting was his problem. "I didn't take you for the fatalistic type, Kennedy."

"Of course we couldn't have left her-" He interrupted himself. Keeping his emotions bottled sent a shiver through him. It was as though he was freezing cold, but the sweat sheen on his skin said otherwise. Fight or Flight. "Kick someone enough and it becomes learned behaviour to flinch on sight." Leon shoved his hands into his pockets and beelined towards the barracks. If he was lucky then his stuff there would have been left well alone, and if people remained ambivalent if irritated by his existence then it should have been. He just needed potentially an overnight bag... Hell, what did it matter. There was too much to tell Jack. Too much gnawing at him. He couldn't just place it on one thing, because every nerve, every inch of pain was hard wired together into some horrific knotted ball. You couldn't tug at one seam without pulling everything else. He'd just... get through the night and see the in-house psych in the morning. He'd feel ashamed for his behaviour, how he'd relapsed on his coping mechanisms but it wouldn't be harming anyone but him. Nothing like mingling with strangers to forget who you were.

 

He'd rarely seen a soldier take a successful mission this badly. Though that must be the rub, he pondered; Leon wasn't a soldier. There was an avalanche of history behind him that Jack wasn't open to. "I'm not saying don't blink, Comrade" he half called after the ex-cop. "Just don't shut your eyes and shut everyone else with it."

Perhaps if he wasn't so shaken up he'd have appreciated the sentiment more. If anything it made him resist more, like a petulant child. Jack didn't know what he was talking about. He cleaned himself up and spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding prolonged contact with anyone. Whether that had been through burying himself in a book or punching a sandbag as hard as he could, internally he willed night to come quicker to mask his escape from the base. He'd memorised the fence, the spotlights and camera patterns. They'd been thorough but, there was one route to avoid detection. Once lights out had been called he waited an hour and then made his move.  


Jack sighed, aware that one pithy comment wasn't going to undo a built-up barricade around someone's thoughts. Grabbing his bag, he noticed the pain in his arm had become more of a dull ache. It was well bandaged, and he recalled the EMT mention some painkiller with too many syllables for the average man to pronounce. He put it to the back of his mind, he knew who to go to if he needed to. He made the rounds around the base, tried to take in the normalcy. Though he wouldn't admit it, seeing a man made plant monster ravage a whole complex was far from what he expected to find in the field, and just seeing his allies go about their duties was strangely calming. Though he couldn't help asking the odd English-speaker he found if they had seen Kennedy around. Numerous shaking heads told him the poor bastard didn't want to be found. As the sun went down, Jack couldn't quiet that nagging thought in his head. The one that knowing a few PTSD ridden former comrades instilled in a man. Needless to say, Leon wasn't in the barracks. It was time to stretch those tracking skills from the jungle.

His bunkmate was oblivious as he left the room. The corridor was dark, the only light came from the spots outside. The heat was still in the air and as such resulted in several of the windows being left open, he raked his teeth over his bottom lip as he made a sprint for it. Thankfully they'd put him on the bottom floor (because apparently, it was a risk to have him on the upper floors) and as such the windows were capable of being opened beyond a few inches. He slipped out with ease, just dodging the camera as it panned. Getting out of the fence was a laborious process, at first he'd unfastened the fixings by the pole and re-attached them when he returned, but that'd been caught onto quickly. So he'd taken up parkour. Avoiding the barbed wire was awkward but possible and it only seemed to get easier each time, let alone when he came back plastered. There was always the creeping dread of getting caught, so the itching feeling in the back of his neck that he was being followed was quickly dismissed as he dropped from the fence.

There were few clues to follow from the start, but there were few places one could go. That cut down on some of his options. Jack looked between where the cameras were stationed. With their movements, he noticed a trail of blind spots that he hoped would lead him to his quarry. He kept his steps steady and his pace regular, not particularly caring to avoid the cameras. The best way to get anywhere on military ground was to act like you are exactly where you're meant to be. It was like pulling rank without a word, and it got him far. He found a window overlooking the courtyard, and beyond the wire fencing that kept them on-site. He took some relief in that Leon was only off base and not worse. He rounded the corridor and made for the outside. The few soldier on guard duty paid Jack little mind, satisfied by the confident stroll and the respectful salute. They wouldn't bother him, but he thought it best not to look suspicious. Carefully inspecting the fence, he found his comrades escape route. Thankfully beyond the fence, he'd be leaving far more things to track, but Jack only had so much in terms of finesse and the guards would want a reason he would be leaving the base. Following would be an issue, and he was too broad to avoid the barbed wire. He took stock of his surroundings. He saw the armoury building. It was near the fence, and the roof was high enough that jump might clear the wire and simultaneously not break his legs landing. He must be mad to try. And yet he climbed.

The path through the bracken and overgrowth by the base was subtle but easy enough to follow. He made sure to not take the same route too often, just so as he didn't reveal himself. He was scarcely weighed down however. This time he hadn't bothered to bring an overnight bag, all he had was a throwaway phone and his wallet. Not that he ever really used the phone. He didn't have anyone he could call that was close enough should anything go terribly. Out of the bars that were nearby, the one he frequented the most was the most demure in its outward appearance. If you didn't know it was there it was easy to miss the steps that lead down to a basement. The only giveaway was the small light that hung over the top of the door. He slipped in. The atmosphere swallowed him like one embraced a friend that hadn't been seen in a long time, he accepted it willingly and drifted to the bar. The bar staff seemed to recognise him and gave him a friendly wave, gesturing they'd be with him in a minute. After all, they seemed to love his mysterious pretty boy air.

Jack pulled himself to the roof with one final heave. The wandering guards hadn't noticed him, and the cameras were focused more on ground level, although this was no excuse to slow down. From this height, he couldn't see any shuffling in the undergrowth beyond the fence. He hoped the trail hadn't gone cold. There was a ventilation unit set in the armoury roof, that'd be as good a springboard as any to get him high enough. He stepped backwards slowly, pressing the toe of his boot on the very edge of the roof for as great a sprinting start as he could muster. He must've been nuts to try this. He broke into a run, it was only three strides till he stepped on the vent unit. He swung his arms and threw all his weight into the launch, pulling his legs up underneath him. His combats caught a snag on the top of the fence, pulling them halfway back before it frayed clear. Committed forward, he began the tuck, hoping his shoulder wouldn't meet a mass of sharp barbs. Contact. His body fell into a somersault, landing in a not-so-graceful pile in the weeds. He froze, crumpled, and listened for any sign from the base he'd been seen. Nothing. No word on the wind. No consequence, at least not yet. He shuffled into a crouch and moved forward, seeing the unmistakable imprint of boots on the ground. Jack kept low, the hunt resumed.

 

It didn't take long for Leon to get some drinks in him. As it stood he wasn't entirely sure he'd seen anyone he'd have liked to try his efforts on, sure if he made eye contact he was met with a small friendly smile, but none especially seemed out for a quick fling. That was fine, he had time and the bar staff were chatty enough. It wasn't the base. He didn't have to be met with any reminders of his work.

Finding Leon required more than a few awkward looks around different bars that were very much not Jack Krauser's usual scene, but he had finally found something that fit what he was looking for; simple, underground, not looking to be found. If he wasn't here then Jack had license to worry about both a fellow soldier and his own job. He descended the stairs, hearing the smooth, subtle music emanating from the secretive little bar as he pushed the door ajar. There were a surprising amount of people here, must be good to its regulars as they seemed very warm even to this stranger. As he approached the bar, he quietly scanned the drinkers. One familiar face caught his eye, absorbed in the scene and the drink. There's his quarry. Jack kept subtle for now, maintaining a safe distance, trying to blend in with a drink. The last thing he needed was for Kennedy to bug out again

Despite Jack being a large and fairly unmissable sort of guy, Leon didn't seem to spot him. His ability to disappear in a crowd was well documented, even if it was hilarious to think about. He remained by the bar for a while before he spotted a group he'd hung out with before arrive. He enthusiastically waved them over, although his joviality was completely fuelled by all the drinks he'd had. Despite his goal of these outings being to forget who he was for a while, he still found himself gravitating back to a certain circle. They'd been good to him before and bothered to negotiate boundaries and safe words. They couldn't have appeared on a better night. Soon once they'd all had another couple of rounds in they'd retired to a booth where Leon was practically draped on one of the others. The guy didn't seem to mind and hand an arm looped around the small of his back. He didn't want to admit he was tired, even if he had just come back from a strenuous mission his own mission here wasn't about to change. He just needed his brain to be quiet for a little.

 

Losing sight of your quarry was never a good idea, but Jack admitted some trepidation at following. He downed the rest of his drink, threw some money onto the bar and walked after them, adjusting his beret as he walked. No sense keeping the masquerade now, his smile slipped into something more solemn, focused. He had a mission. He wound around to the booths, seeing Leon's groggy face fixed on one of his current companions. He stood before them, trying his best not to upset. "Sorry to disturb your evening, gentlemen, but I'm here to pick up a friend of mine." His eyes narrowed on Leon. "He knows how to make someone worry."

He blinked the weariness away, trying to focus on the familiar voice. Jack? The hell was Jack doing here? He looked around the table, there were definitely mixed opinions, mostly shock. The guy he was draped on stiffened and subtly unwrapped his arm from Leon's waist. "What-?" He shifted and finally met Jack's gaze. His comrade had interrupted the intimate game of footsie they'd planned. "Shit, your timing is terrible you know that?" His words were a little slurred at the edges. Though that was more the tiredness than anything.

"Yeah, so I'm told." He was undeterred. No way was he leaving this place without Leon, not in this state. Whilst he didn't doubt the honest intentions of the group he was with, he couldn't entirely know one way or another. But sure as hell they didn't know that Leon was suffering somehow, no matter how much he was trying to drown it. "Last I checked, drinking yourself stupid wasn't a coping mechanism."

"Can you really not?" Leon winced, "I came here to have a good time and I was- I'm sorry guys, let me just.." He grumbled as he slipped over one of the group just to try and talk Jack out of taking him back to the base. In his alcohol addled mind that sounded like a really sound way to rescue his evening from the fun police. "Look, I meet up with these guys every once in a while. I'm happy and I'm safe. What's the way I spend down time anything to do with you?" He kept his voice down, he wasn't about to be one of those drunks that caused a scene

At least he was out of his gaggle of friends. They could be frank, and in turn, Jack kept his voice low. "It's been my job to look out for your ass since you dropped into that jungle. Even if it wasn't, I know a soldier can lose himself to the demons in his head. You won't tell me and I ain't forcing you to, but I'm damn sure you haven't shared with your friends either, and they wouldn't be enabling this if they knew you were on a downward spiral."

Leon tried not to hiss, but his jaw clenched in response. To be fair he had no idea, but to them, this was a casual meet up and screw every once in a while. But thanks to the contact the government made him sign he couldn't talk about his work to people who weren't in the know. His hands were tied thanks to Simmons. "They're not enabling, we _communicate_ what we can. It helps me, whether you approve of it or not."

Jack couldn't stifle a scoff at his defence, trying to make him the bad guy. He dropped his voice an octave. "Kennedy, I don't give a shit what you get up to in your off time, but you want to use this to run away and forget everything that's hurting you. That doesn't help you, and it ain't fair on them. The drink is just gravy on top."

He wanted to tell him that Jack didn't have a clue what he was talking about. Ask why he thought it was his place to make such accusations. He may have been a buzz-kill to what he really wanted, but it didn't stop the way it made him pang. Someone came out to find him. Someone was looking out for him after all this time. He swallowed thickly and looked away. He couldn't take it. The drink on top of the tangled mess of his emotions made everything feel more intense. "I don't get connections. People get taken from me all the time. If you're going to stop me doing this then you've got big shoes to fill to take responsibility."

"Alright, I've heard enough." Jack sighed. He couldn't tell how this might escalate. Time for a more physical tactic. In one move he ducked lower, swiped across Leon's midsections with his good arm, and hauled him up to his shoulder in a perfect one-armed fireman's carry. "Size 16 shoes big enough, comrade?" He muttered to the lightly flailing agent on his shoulder. He briefly turned to his friends' entourage, giving a quick salute with an "Apologies for disrupting your evening, gentlemen" before turning and making for the exit.

He didn't really get an opportunity to defend, especially not with the alcohol slowing his reaction time. Everything moved in a blur, he didn't even really get an opportunity to say bye to the group he'd been spending time with. He just knew he wasn't on ground level. Size 16? Big enough? His head spun. He wanted to flail, although his arms were restricted by Jack's grip on him. Though as much as he wanted to shout at Jack to put him down, it was weirdly intriguing. Jack came and found him after disappearing... maybe he was getting wires crossed and being overly hopeful. "So. Take me back to the base? Name and shame me, is that the plan?"

Jack made through the main body of the bar, waving off concern with some knowing looks to the barman and the odd drinking motion of his free hand to the patrons. "Please, comrade, I'm not the type. We're gonna get a half gallon of water in you for the hangover, get you a decent place to sleep, and I'm gonna make some phone calls until I get hold of someone who you _will_ talk to." He ducked slightly going through the door, aware he might've swung the loose agent on his shoulder a touch wide, "mind your head."

Leon curled up as much as he could though still managed to get his head lightly knocked on the overhead hinge. It was his own fault for looking up when Jack said _duck_. Perhaps it'd knock some sense into him, but he doubted it, it'd just be another ache for the hangover tomorrow as Jack mentioned. "I.. I don't really have anyone. No one that's really available. We're all scattered, the people who'd get it. And they've got their own shit to worry about.

 

The night air was cooler and clearer than Jack expected. Damn refreshing for the night he'd had. "Not available isn't no one. Just means I'll be making more calls." He took a few more steps, but loath as he was to admit it, his arm was losing feeling from the agent's bony frame digging into him. "If I put you down, y'aint gonna run off on me will ya?"

"It's not like I have anywhere to go." He didn't want to admit he sounded like a sulking teenager, and yet here he was. As strong as Jack was, he knew he wasn't invulnerable. As scrawny as he appeared he'd been on the same high protein military diet Jack'd been on

"Alright" the large man muttered, as he grabbed the belt loops on the agents pants pulled him forward, lowering him as delicately as he could onto his feet. He kept an arm on Leon's shoulder to steady the occasional drunken wobbles. "Besides, we're not going back to the base. Not tonight at least. Motel beds might not be luxury, but they're a damn sight easier on the drunk and stupid than those canvas cots."

"Man, this just reeks of skeevy." Leon couldn't help but laugh, even if he was completely disorientated. Logically he knew he was outside the bar and was staring at the overgrowth he'd made his way through, but it looked completely different. "Swipe me out of a bar and drag me to a motel." He smirked "Jack, you got something to tell me?"

Even Jack was surprised at the wave of relief that fell over him hearing Leon laugh. He'd let his thoughts get away from him, but at least he could deal with wisecracks better than he could the oppressive sadness. He laughed in turn. "Hands to yourself, Kennedy or I'll have to tie 'em up and toss you in a night-long cold shower."

"Tch. You ruin my fun, what else can I do?" In all fairness Jack did have a point. As great as he felt at the time of his little habits it was the come down the following morning which left him feeling worse. His therapist had already talked about getting him on medication, but it was getting him over the mindset that pills were bad.

"You can sleep it off, get your head in the game, and have your fun with no strings following you around." He seemed more receptive to Jack being blunt, but he hoped he wasn't becoming callous about it. "Besides, if you wanna wake up sloppy drunk surrounded by marines with zero sympathy, we can turn around." They were nearing somewhere that looked open, if a little shoddy, but considering they where they were it was serviceable.

"There's always going to be the strings." His brows dipped. He may have responded to the bluntness better, didn't mean he enjoyed it. He preferred it when Jack had the image of well adjusted despite all things considered about him. He could handle that a lot better than being handled so... delicately. Even if his words weren't it was the notion behind it that felt uncomfortable. "I've done it before. I survived Raccoon whilst hungover worse than I'll be in the morning." He didn't want to really test him, but the protective spikes were out and readily bristling.

Jack quietly handed the incredibly tired owner the money for the room for the night. "Whole city out to get you and you took that on hungover? Damn, I was told you were good but... hell I probably wouldn't even be wearing pants in that situation." His respect for Leon had to be earned in the jungle, to be sure, but he supposed that likely had been the same for him. He didn't talk much about his exploits before, but from what he had gleaned that was likely the source of a lot of what was doing Leon in tonight. He wouldn't prod, but he was glad at least something was being shared

Leon gave a small shrug, already starting to feel ratty from the comedown. Everyone told him how amazing it was, it probably was. He just recalled it being one of the shittiest weeks of his life. If anything he was more proud of Claire and Sherry for getting through it, especially as neither had any special training. "Maybe if I hadn't been hanging out of my ass we'd have been able to save more people." The place smelt fairly stale, even if there was house keeping, they sure as hell didn't air the rooms out enough.

Jack winced, seeing the telltale starts of that spiral that had brought them both here. "And maybe you'd have been killed a whole lot sooner from sticking to protocol and less ready to adapt, huh?" He pushed forward through the hallways, kinda wishing he was back outside in the night air. "Possibilities are a bitch. You interfered in the moment and made it the best possible one you could." He took a breath, realising the current irony. "People have done a whole lot more and gotten a whole lot less from it."

His tongue flicked over his teeth. The irony wasn't lost on him, although knowing Jack had been around the block a few times gave him some sort of comfort. He could only imagine the kind of decisions he'd had to make on the fly. Soldiers dealt with worse than cops did. "I guess." He rubbed the nape of his neck and glanced back up at Jack. He just seemed so much more with it and together than he could hope to be. "...I'm sorry. You probably wanted to just relax after... everything. You shouldn't have had to come out after me."

"Apology accepted. Good thing there's a lot more nights in the future." He said, feeling an honest smile creep onto his face. He didn't like seeing the agent like this but damned if he wasn't glad for this to be over. He unlocked the room door, opening into a modest suite. Simple bed, kettle, a pair of chairs and bathroom. He didn't expect much more for what he'd paid. "I know you're not the most open about this, and that's fine. I don't want to prod. If the best I can do for you is be a safety net, then that'll have to do. You got us both through Javier, I owe you that much." **  
**

At least Jack hadn't died. When he saw the bone spear go through his arm he had nightmare visions of it being far worse. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without you either. If you and Manuela hadn't helped me I wouldn't have been able to take down Javier by myself." Though the one bed made his brow raise. Surely Jack wasn't going to stick around? Granted he could deal. It was more of a question on how comfortable Jack would be

Jack might not know the intricacies, but he knew the look he was getting. "Easy, comrade. The beds all yours. To forget about the base. I'm going to go find a phone. Small comforts aside I think you could do with someone familiar and I can find some favours to call in." He poured out a couple glasses of tap water, downing his in an instant whilst putting his ally's on the table. Tasted like limescale, the building was in dire need of a proper cleaner, but it went down. "I'm not going back to the base without you, ya poonhound, so sleep it off and we'll handle this come daylight, alright?"

There was a distinctive jitter in his hand as he lifted the glass, it was probably a combination of nerves and the amount of time he'd been awake for. He could have downed it like Jack, but instead, he settled for a few sips and then clambered into the bed instead. "I'll make this up to you."

Jack shrugged. "I know you will. What are friends for, right?" He washed off his hands in the sink, splashing his face to reinvigorate himself. _You worried too much but at least he's not in trouble. He's okay. For now._ He wiped his face dry on a sun-bleached towel, making for the door. "Rest well, comrade. You deserve it."

\------

 

Excella leant back in her chair, her brow raised. As much as Jack referred to them as friends, it obviously wasn't enough to keep him around. Still, that bond could be used as much as it was a possible liability. Especially if Leon thought so fondly of the other, it'd be a means to keep his hands tied. "And then he left to return back to the president's side. Would you say he was the only thing keeping you on the proverbial straight and narrow?”--

_\------_

“I can't.” Leon interrupted. Excella regarded the agent with patience. He almost couldn't quite bring himself to believe that she was respecting his wishes. He hadn't had that sort of a chance for years. “I'm sorry, I'm.. not ready for that.”  
“What are you afraid of?”  
“...We said a lot to one another that can't just be taken back. I can't confirm it. I know it makes we weak but I'm-” Excella crouched before the agent and placed her finger over his lips, hushing him softly.  
“Betrayal leaves deep wounds. Especially when you believed yourself so close to another. We can continue this whenever you believe yourself ready. But, until then, know that I have spoken to Wesker and he will not be bringing this up again with you. Not unless you want to.”  
“...Thank you.” Leon looked away. Everything ached. And here Excella was being so kind. He didn't want to think ill of it, but he couldn't help his suspicions. After all, it was now well known he was an emotional wreck, so of course send the attractive woman in to soothe him. Even if Wesker and Excella were... an item, it didn't strike him as being out of character to use her... _charms_ to win another over.

“Someone has to be the voice of reason around here.” She gave a shrug. “Besides, he does have a habit of sending such... mixed signals. Sometimes I wonder if my time with him really is numbered.”  
“If it's that bad, then why are you still here?”  
“Because I believe in what he wants to achieve. He is torn between a promise made when he was a child and didn't understand the connotations and his own wishes now. I'd like to think that I'm part of those wishes that he has now, but I worry for what that promise could mean for our son. Alex has no love for me, that's always been clear.” Excella sighed and settled next to Leon on the cot. “She is a jealous and possessive woman. She's manipulative to boot. If you believe me to be a puppet-master then you have yet to see the terrible things she's capable of.”  
“...What's she planning?”  
“I...” She bit her lip. Brows furrowing as she caught herself. “I can't say. Of all the people to trust with such information, I'd believe you the most... _understanding_ , I suppose. But it's not my place to tell. I can't help but... feel that it's akin to the fanatic beliefs of zealots. Those who believe that there is something after all this. That all they need do is endure until they can make it.”  
“Life after death?” Leon's eyes darted over the Wesker's desk. Before him laid the stacks and stacks of journals that Wesker meticulously filled with thoughts, plans and lord knew what else. “That seems a bit... religious for them.”  
“Religion can be found anywhere there is a high concentration of belief or faith. They have no idea if their plan will work, but it's about the only thing keeping them going sometimes.”  
“Is it worth it?”  
“I don't think so. Relying upon the unknown future to bring something better without securing that possibility for yourself is reckless. If you want peace, you have to fight for it.” Her fist clenched as she spoke. There would be no room for her in Alex's dream future. She didn't care for that, it was how blindly Albert let himself be led but her fanaticism. “It's a quick way out. That's my opinion on their plan.”

Leon didn't know what to say. All he knew was things seemed even more confusing. Morbidity always loomed over Umbrella and its History, but this was an entirely different sort of morbid. It came across as the romanisation of mental illness, of all things bleak and hopeless. But in such an oppressive upbringing what else was there? She was trying to pull the two of them out of their trench and Wesker was caught in the middle. He shook his head. He needed to remain objective. Understanding didn't mean a free pass on their actions. But it was so hard to remain impartial when thrown into the thick of it. Especially after Alex came to him through the hive-mind. He was now involved whether he liked it or not.

“I must return to my duties.” Excella sighed, forcing herself up with a groan. “Otherwise I will say more than I should.”  
“No, it's.. it's fine.” The agent rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you, all the same. You don't have to keep doing this.”  
“Someone has to keep everyone afloat.” She shrugged. “Don't be afraid to keep back-chatting him. He respects people who have the nerve to do it.”  
“When I'm feeling a little more up for it, consider the sass master back.” He offered a sheepish smile and waved her off. “See you in the morning.”  


It wasn't ideal, but she'd managed to re-establish whatever section of the bridge had been obliterated. What she wasn't braced for was the outline of Wesker still stood in front of the fire pit.  
“I thought you were going to research the castle further?”  
As she watched him she noticed the unfocused look in his eyes. Staring through the heat waves and into the darkness before him. His abilities now afforded him to be able to see in the dark, and yet she wasn't convinced he was actively searching for anything.  
“...He knows too much. You're right. If he doesn't join us then all we've done is prepare his casket once our mission here is complete.”  
“We can still take him with us.”  
“I have enough thorns to keep up with, one as slippery as Le- _Kennedy_ cannot be allowed to persist. I will not be able to maintain watch over him.”  
“He will come around.”  
“If he doesn't then I will let him know it was you who caused this.” He briefly deigned to cast a glance to Excella. The unreadable mask once again settled.  
“Will you really be able to raise your hand to kill him? You can grandstand all you want. Whether you see it through will say it all.” She spat. Anything could have brought this on, a conversation with Alex, overhearing her words to Leon. His own thought processes.  
“You doubt my capabilities?”  
“No. I doubt your resolve to maintain the image of a monster around him.” She clicked her tongue. “I'm turning in, I've had enough of your nonsense for the night.”  
  


Wesker didn't reply, didn't bother watching her as she left. He remained fixated on that which lurked within the unseen distance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So the story goes  
> We weren't high enough, high enough  
> Don't you need this no more?  
> Are you strong enough, strong enough  
> To lose it, to fool yourself?  
> So hard to understand  
> Guess I didn't wanna change  
> This hold on me, this hold on me
> 
> Oh your love keeps me in chains  
> Just like the river I come back again  
> Oh your fear keeps me right here  
> You'll be the arrow, the arrow"  
> Rag'N'Bone Man - Arrow
> 
>   
> WOW. that was a long break. So first off I'd like to thank [AgentWhite](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentWhite) for writing Jack for this chapter for me, it ended up getting a little bit flashback-ception there for a moment. And secondly, thanks to everyone for bearing with me whilst I got caught up with Work life etc.
> 
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	12. Hidden Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whilst Leon sleeps his mind wanders back to Pueblo. Things aren't quite what they seem to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hints of NSFW, not explicitly written.
> 
> "Oh Mario. we're only to Ohio  
> It's kinda getting harder to breathe  
> I won't let it show  
> I'm all about denial  
> But can't denial let me believe?  
> That we could talk about it  
> But we can't talk about it
> 
> Because nobody knows  
> That's how I nearly fell  
> Trading clothes  
> And ringing Pavlov's Bell  
> History shows but rarely shows it well  
> Well, well, well"

He tasted the harsh dry heat tickling the back of his throat. If it hadn't been for the moon then it would have almost certainly been pitch black. He was shaken, something in the back of his mind nagging. The research facility island, except it.. wasn't quite. He couldn't tell. All he could think of was his first clash with Krauser. The scar was new. Time hadn't been kind to him and yet there he was, muttering cryptically about how he didn't understand things. It was like he was being watched the entire time. He kept telling him to fight, to put his heart into it. But he was panicking. First Luis, then Mike the pilot, now this? How much else was going to get taken away from him? No, he couldn't afford to think like that. He wasn't important right now. His feelings and comfort were not the focus of the mission. He couldn't be _selfish_ when he was selfish people ended up dead.

Ada had stepped in, shot the knife from Krauser's grip. He couldn't think the last time he'd been able to stop and get a meal, a _proper_ meal. He'd shared snacks with the merchant after especially awful battles, although most of the time he didn't want to think where the food had come from. He hadn't cared, it'd tasted good. But he'd trained long and hard enough to learn how to ignore the slight tremor in his hand, the way his body tried to kick in the adrenaline and make him tired and sluggish. There wasn't time for it. Ashley was all that mattered. And yet.  
It felt like he was missing something. A conversation he couldn't quite recall. Some meaning he'd worked out behind those hushed whispers and cryptic tones.

He was faced with the gate. He recognised it instantly. The stage for their final fight. He flexed his grip on the TMP, feeling his knuckles grind together and creak in protest. He'd been holding it for so long and so tightly he was sure there'd be some long term effect because of it. Though he was sure there'd be a long term effect to just about everything he did. He was hesitant. He thought he knew why, because he knew it would be where he would kill Jack. He wanted to wake up, but curiosity compelled him to carry on. To humour that nag in the back of his head that this wasn't what he thought it was all about.

“Can't drag your heels like that comrade.” Jack's voice echoed through the ruins. It sounded disappointed, but there was a hint of urgency in his tones.  
“So sue me, I got held up.” Leon's response was flippant. The TMP he had held to his chest now dangling at his side. His free hand on his hip as he looked around. A myriad of feelings hit him. Suspicion primarily, but there was amusement.  
“Enough.” He folded his arms. Jack had the high ground. Although taking the shirt off, the war paint from... wait had he used his own blood?- Leon couldn't help but feel the theatrics were running a bit high. “I can see that you two are in bed together.”  
“Doesn't stop her from screwing me over.” Leon could tell he harboured no love for Ada. Part of him worried if that could put a dampener on all this. “Where's Ashley?”  
“She's through that gate. But you'll need to gather three insignias to get through there. One on the north and one in the east.”  
“....And lemme guess, you've got the last one?” He was wary, but not like he should have been. Not like he remembered. _Leave it to Jack to orchestrate something for the flare of dramatics._ He paused at the train of thought. Something didn't feel right.  
  
“And that puts you on a tight leash.” _Of course, he couldn't have me fucking anything up_. Again with the suspicions. Even though Jack raised his own TMP, he didn't feel as though he was especially at risk. There were suicidal behaviours and then there was downright delusional, he hadn't been this bad, had he?  
“Guess that means you thought this all out pretty well.” He watched Jack carefully, and at the last moment flung his grapple to knock the gun back. Either he was quicker than he thought or those Plaga reflexes weren't as good as he'd been boasting about. Still, it was enough to get him in cover and avoid the hail of bullets.

But that wasn't the end of it. Soon he was being bombarded by more bullets and crossbow bolts. It was easy enough to avoid. At first. He knew Jack was skilled, that when in the heat of battle he was relentless and sometimes with little regard for his own well-being. Something of a berserker, but more tactical. He bolted to a small building and hid inside, gathering his wits about him. He needed to ground himself and work out where to head, where was the North tower? It was like a labyrinth.  
He heard the hammering of footsteps approaching the 'haven' and before he could get out, the door shattered as Jack's boot shot through. His knife was drawn, ready to kill. Though the glint in his eye was.. passive. Leon narrowed his eyes as the other drew closer. Every move Leon made was defensive, he should have been aiming for more weak points, and yet it was about keeping distance.  
“You going soft?” Jack taunted with a growl.  
Leon didn't have any words. He landed a punch that sent the other staggering back allowing him the time to hop out the window.  
_He's way too into this._

Despite the distance he put between himself and Jack, his ex-comrade kept finding his way back to him in a heartbeat. He found the knife worked better at keeping him at bay than any of his guns. But Jack always preferred the more high stakes means. A gun ended things so quickly, but knives required far more skill. It was part of why Jack respected him so much, or at least he'd thought. But the almost unending taunts set the hairs on his arm on end. _He's not supposed to be enjoying this_. The thought caught him out of the blue. There was too much emphasis on certain words. _Orchestrated, supposed..._ It was clearly Jack's plan, but the idea there was intent or a set idea of how this was meant to be going made his head spin. It implied there had been a mutual communication.

  
He crouched to pick up the first insignia piece. Behind him Jack lingered with his knife drawn. But he made no move to attack, instead choosing to circle his prey.  
“...What do you intend to do, restoring Umbrella?” He'd recalled saying it in a far more heated manner. He was curious, studying the way Jack spun the knife in his hand.  
“To bring order and balance to this insane world of ours.”  
“You think a psycho like him can really do that?” Leon tossed the insignia chunk into the air and caught it, joining Jack in the predatory circling.  
“You don't really think a conservative mind has the means to carry us into the future do you?”  
“No, but I don't think he's fit to do it either.”

Something about the response made Jack sneer. The attack launched once more, but again Leon hung back. His way out was blocked by a gate and it seemed that the only way out were pressure pads. If Jack would back off then he could get it done faster. This would be over and done with... but his hesitance only seemed to rub Jack the wrong way, make his attacks more vicious.  
“Come on, is that all you've got?” The man barked. “Come out and fight me like a man.”  
“I'm not falling for that one.” Leon huffed, clutching at his side. Despite all the healing items and ammo, Jack had left lying around for him, it didn't seem to be enough.  
“Just _try_ to have fun.”  
Fun? What about this was supposed to be _fun_? And yet, there was a thrill about it that he couldn't explain. The rush of a secret shared. _Wait_.

The drones weren't fun either. He'd wondered where exactly he'd managed to procure them, although part of him had an inkling it hadn't been his Spanish employer.  
“What is it that you fight for, comrade? Why do you bother?” His voice echoed once more, sounding close and distant all at once.  
“...For my past I suppose.”  
“I see you've honed your skills.” He could feel Jack's breath on the back of his neck. He wanted to turn around and take a swipe at him, but instead, he stayed put. “This ain't gonna work if you don't make it convincing.”  
_Wait. What._

“I know. I know.. This just couldn't come at a worse time.” Leon groaned.  
What had once started as feeling as though he was reliving the events, then turned to being an observer. Whatever was going on this was a cruel trick. This wasn't right. He wanted to wake up and shake himself out of it. His therapist said that memory was tricky, that each time you remembered an event was only actually you remembering the last time you remembered it. But he sure as hell never remembered this. And yet, the ache it brought didn't change the distant familiarity.  
“Just know I didn't sign up to kill you.”  
“Neither did I... Look whatever he's offered you, it's going to be conditional. He's not someone you want to rely on.”  
“And what? Go back into the arms of the Government that cast me aside like a broken toy? I can't come back from this. There won't be a welcome party waiting.”  
“I know that.” Leon hissed through gritted teeth, he turned to face the other, fists clenched. “But you're being used.”  
“You're a fine one to talk about being used.” Jack snorted. “I know all about that contract Simmons holds over you. Kept at his side like Fenrir, paraded like a trophy of his power.”  
“Fenrir's day came, when he bit off Tyr's hand and takes out Odin. I mean, sure he gets taken out by Odin's son but-” Leon watched as he laughed at Jack's comment. “-point is, maybe you better brush up on your classics.”  
“Ain't gonna have the time.” There was a shift in Jack's expression. A resignment. No matter what the plan may have been, they were never going to be so lucky.

 

Leon squinted, finding the scene before him growing increasingly faded. Instead, he was met with glimpses of their 'fight'. Small tells coming to light that blows were being pulled. What should have been fatal slashes, were nothing more than hairline scratches. Despite the mutation, Jack remained superficially vicious. What was supposed to be a punch were nothing more than glorified love-taps.

He couldn't ignore the thoughts buzzing around his head. The feeling of attachment, joy Jack was really alive, but the remorse he was connected to Wesker. He wanted things to be as they had been when they worked together before. It'd been one of the greatest partnerships he'd been in. Knowing that someone had his back. And now... There was so much he wanted to say to him, but their time was limited. There would be the chance for as many words as they saw fit once they were out. Until then he'd have to settle for something less nuanced.  
  
It flickered. Words were exchanged he couldn't quite make out. A low husk. There was a weighted pain throbbing in the side of his head. Mouths connected. A desperation. A notion running through him that he couldn't tell if he'd thought of it himself or the idea had been planted. An action of whimsy, a moment exchanged out of the view of anyone else. Not as though they actually had anything in the way of true privacy given the hive mind nature of the plaga. He recalled not caring. Feeling as though after all this time that one-sided pining had paid off. He'd never seen Jack blush before or look quite so flustered at his advances, even if it was difficult to see through the war paint. He recalled the dust on his knees, enjoying the scratch of the rough floor to ground him. To remind him that this was actually happening. He could remember the taste of him, the feel of his fingers running through his hair. Whether they had time for more or not didn't matter, his greed would overcome him regardless. Pressed against a wall, held up by his forearms that were pinned above him, legs wrapped around Jack's thick waist. He'd been a mess. Oblivious to the world around him. Surrendering himself entirely to the sensations.

 

Once they were done, there was a reluctance to part ways, but promises were made. A resolve to find one another once they were off the Island and Saddler was killed.  
“We wanted to see this cult destroyed too.” Jack breathed with a shudder.  
“Come with me. We'll take him out together.”  
“Can't. With this plaga, it may be the dominant strain, but he could make me turn on you at any second. It'll be safer if you went alone. Besides, not like you can't handle it Boy Scout.”  
“You know we can't.. well we can't really see each other after this?”  
“You manage it with Wong, don't you? I'm sure you leave off your... escapades off your report.”  
“I thought she was dead before I came here.” Leon groaned, rubbing his head. The elation was wearing off with the onset of reality. “...Look, I can't condone what Wesker's doing. We're not going to see eye to eye on that. But I don't want you dead either.”  
“Do you really know what Wesker's been doing? Or do you only know what Simmons has been telling you?”  
“I've got to keep in line, regardless. If I don't then it's Sherry that suffers, not me. My hands are tied. I can only do so much.”  
Jack paused, grimacing. “...You hang in there comrade. Won't be like it forever. Mark my words. Simmons will get his.”  
The agent sighed, leaning into Jack's shoulder. Just one last hint of him before he left.  
“God, I hope you're right.”

 

His death was faked. The final page of their fight staged and Leon placed the insignias in the lock, leading him to the mines. He heard the explosion, assuming that Jack had made his escape before the detonation. It was the best he'd felt the entire time he'd been on this crappy mission. Well, there were other good moments, but those had ended badly. He couldn't bring himself to think about it. But it gave him some other hope, gave him more vigour as he took out the Ganados on his way to Saddler and Ashley.  
  
  


The ill omen presented itself in the form of Ada. He'd found a small shack leading further into the Prison. She told him that Jack had been alive after he'd left and she'd finished the job. His heart sank. Everything had been a blur. She'd ruined it.  
“What..?”  
“I saw what he did.” Ada's voice was soft. She kept her distance, not quite meeting his gaze. “I couldn't let him live after doing something like that to you. I couldn't get to you to save you. I'm sorry.”  
He couldn't reply. He felt like he'd been winded. She'd killed him because she thought he'd.. It hadn't been like that at all. It'd been a moment of weakness on his part for sure. But. He wretched and staggered back against the table. His grip on the edge of the table so tight it made him run cold. Her hand rose, to reach out for him, no doubt to comfort him. He couldn't stand to look at her. But she also couldn't know.  
It couldn't get out that he'd made such a deal. What in the hell would Ashley think? The one hurt most by Jack's actions. But. He couldn't quash the emotions bubbling in his gut. Ada thought she'd _saved_ him. It couldn't be further from the truth. He'd have to mourn him all over again. To be built up with hope only for it to be stolen from him so callously.

“Leon. Are you alright?” She cornered him, her hand on his shoulder.  
He moved before he could think. As though his arms were attached to strings. Everything was blurred, happening but feeling as though it wasn't. He was aware of his hands on Ada's throat, her struggling in his grip. But he couldn't break free. The Plaga. He tried to fight back, but it felt as though there was a freezing cold hand in his head, directing everything he did, using his anger and sadness to take out a pest.  
  
The knife in his thigh brought him back to his senses. But the damage was done. He'd slipped enough that he'd managed to allow control over him. This would only continue to bring him down, to harbour resentment against someone who didn't know any better. _She can't know. No one can know._

  
  


Leon awoke with a start, sharply inhaling and studying his surroundings. It was pitch black, no sound of the fire pit outside. It had to be early in the morning. He coughed, expecting to feel that familiar weight in the back of his throat, but all it was was a severe case of being parched. He heard movement in the corner, roughly towards the desk. As the agent sat up the side lamp switched on. Wesker had apparently been filling in documents in the dark. If he didn't have fancy genetics then Leon would have told him he'd wreck his eyesight doing that sort of thing.

“Trouble sleeping pet?” He cocked his head, maintaining a calm tone. Cooled down since earlier clearly.  
“I...” Well for one he needed a cold shower. He still recalled how Jack had touched him in the dream. Just how- Leon slapped his cheeks, wincing and hoping it'd snap himself out of it. “I may have been mistaken about a few things.”  
Wesker didn't reply, simply raised his brow. Perhaps he was a bit too fearful of saying the wrong thing and making Leon recluse once more. But he was treading carefully.  
“I made a deal with him.” Leon said slowly, trying to figure out if what he'd seen had happened. It'd felt so real. It didn't feel like those feverish dreams he'd suffered on his return.  
“With who?”  
“Jack.”

Wesker watched Leon with intent. He wasn't sure what to expect more, fear, anger, remorse or disgust. The agent sat there in silence, his hand covering his mouth as he stared at the foot of his bed. He wasn't sure if he was expecting to watch a crisis of faith unfold before him. But he was definitely thinking. He could say something, but there was the concern of Leon's unpredictability.  
“What did you promise him?”  
“I'd let him live and I'd kill Saddler. That's what you wanted right? To get rid of terrorist groups like his cult so you could play top dog?” Leon snorted. “Right up there with the logic of a nuclear deterrent.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I didn't _want_ to kill him.” He gave a sarcastic look to the Tyrant, “there was a lot of... unresolved matters we didn't get to discuss. We had that chance but it was taken from me.”  
“Ada.” Wesker nodded, recalling the chewing out she'd given him when she'd reported Jack's death.  
“I can't... I can't resent her. She was looking out for me and made a mistake, but. God, I was so furious.” He hunched over himself. “They were both as bad as each other. Get close and then make me think they're dead. It wasn't safe to make contact, I get it.”

The Tyrant hummed lowly. Perhaps Excella was right. He could be swayed to see things their way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh Mario, why if this is nothing  
> I'm finding it so hard to dismiss  
> If you're what I need,  
> Then only you can save me  
> So come on baby. give me the fix  
> And let's just talk about it  
> I've got to talk about it
> 
> Because nobody knows  
> That's how I nearly fell  
> Trading clothes  
> And ringing Pavlov's Bell  
> History shows  
> Like it was show and tell  
> So tell me  
> That's how I nearly fell  
> By ringing Pavlov's Bell  
> So, baby, show and tell  
> Oh Mario, Mario"  
> Aimee Mann - Pavlov's Bell  
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	13. Touched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The virus progresses further within Leon and manifests itself physically. New areas of the castle are revealed but at a great cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Each and every day  
> Hiding from the sunshine  
> Wandering in the shade  
> Not too old  
> Not too young
> 
> Every night again  
> Dancing with the moonlight  
> Somewhere far away  
> I can hear your call
> 
> I'm out of my head  
> Of my heart, and my mind  
> Cause you can run  
> But you can't hide  
> I'm gonna make you mine
> 
> Out of my head  
> Of my heart and my mind  
> Cause I can feel How your flesh Now Is crying out for more"

Despite the dreams of the previous night, the excursion had been successful. But at a cost.

 

After returning to sleep Leon had had further visions of the castle. Finally, after building up the morale they were able to venture further in, with Leon as a guide. As soon as we woke up he'd beelined towards Excella during the breakfast rush and taken a pencil to the map. Henderson went to stop him only for Wesker hush them to observe the agent's actions. He appeared awake, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. His pupils bordered on the sharp slits he'd seen when he had succumbed to the virus. But they'd flicker between normal and infected rapidly. Seeing all and entirely unseeing.  
Wesker also recalled the agent to be predominantly right-handed, but lo and behold, it was his left hand that was meticulously scrawling the new area of the castle as though he were the very architect.  
  


Excella also remained fixated upon the agent, however, it wasn't for the sake of the motions. It was his hand itself. The tips of his fingers were black. It carried on up in patchy streaks, following the map of the veins in his hand. She was fixated on the sudden change. His nails also appeared more prominent. Like the rest of the tips of his fingers, they were pitch black, but thicker with a hint of a curve like a claw. It was as though he'd dunked his fingers in a pot of ink before he'd appeared.  
Medically speaking, if the flesh was black, it was supposed to be turning necrotic, and yet there was no smell. He didn't appear pained or otherwise disturbed by its appearance. But then again, this was one of those trances that Wesker had spoken of.  
  


The pencil dropped from Leon's hand, breaking the silence that had befallen the observers. He flexed his fingers and brought his hand up so he could inspect it properly. They didn't appear rotted. But the sudden change caught him off guard.  
“...What?” He looked up and realised their eyes were upon him. He didn't actually remember leaving the tent, just thinking he needed to write something down.  
“Did you perchance have another vision?” Excella nodded towards the map.  
The map had originally had a basic outline of the castle, though it was on an exceedingly large piece of paper. In his trance, he'd managed to detail what would have been a third of the entire building. Alongside it, he'd created a section including an upper floor that wasn't known and several subsections of a basement. However, entrance to that basement wasn't indicated.  
“I... I didn't see that much.” He rubbed the nape of his neck, acutely aware of the light scratch of his nails. He paused and shook his head, pointing to a particularly large room. “I dreamt that we found that room. There was... _something_ there. I can't quite remember what it was. But it was important enough that we were trapped inside.”  
“We?” Wesker's brow rose.  
  
  
“....No, it was just me.” He paused again, the fragments of his dream barely cohesive enough to string together. He couldn't remember it in a linear fashion, just events that stuck out. “I'd gone in ahead. I think I'd heard something.”  
“Then you won't enter alone.” Wesker hummed.  
“Or simply entering may be a trap. After all, we don't know if the Hookman is dead.” Excella offered. “Can you recall anything about the room, specifically?” Wesker didn't miss a beat, though the small nod he offered towards Excella indicated some acknowledgement.  
“There were lots of books. Trophies on the wall. But also records. Better kept than within the village I'd assume because there's no chance of weathering.” Leon's brows dipped as his fingers continued to trace lines through the map.  
“I'm also interested in this.” Wesker pointed to the new subsection of the basement that Leon had drawn. His hand very close to the agent's “Where is this?”  
“...I can't say.” Leon jumped at the sudden motion. He rubbed his arm and shook his head. “I don't even remember seeing that.”

Wesker hummed quietly, glancing to Excella then back to Leon.  
“Either way, before we attempt any sort of excursion, we should run some tests on your arm.” He stepped around the table and took a light hold of Leon's wrist. Just as Leon had, he examined the blackened tips of the agent's fingers. “Does it hurt?”  
“No.” His response was wary. Rather than focus on the changes, he was aware of how casually Wesker reached for him. It wasn't unusual, not if he thought about it. There had been several times now where Wesker didn't have much of a concept of personal space. This time, his nerves felt far more alert. The ridges and grooves of the callouses in the Tyrant's fingers more prominent, or at least he was simply more aware of the way it scratched him.  
“Do you believe you'll be capable of a mission today?”  
“I should be?” Leon cleared his throat and slipped out of Wesker's grip. “The tests won't take too long, right?”  
“I'll simply take a blood sample, we already have an idea of what's caused this.” Excella gestured towards the medical tent.  
  
  


Leon followed her, unable to shake his awareness of Wesker's eyes on his back. Since his revelation in the middle of the night, he'd noticed Wesker's demeanour towards him had changed. He wondered what exactly Excella had said to him to get him to back off on the matter, not that it had any consequence now... perhaps that's what it was. Now Wesker knew he didn't especially have to tiptoe around the matter it would be easier to maintain a close proximity. Mix up or not, Leon still valued his personal space at the very least.  
  
“Now let me have a look~” Excella cooed, proving that she, however, didn't.  
Her grip was far less forgiving than Wesker's had been, almost wrenching his arm out of the socket, fuelled purely on nothing more than excitement if the gleam in her widened eyes combined with a beaming smile she couldn't contain was anything to go by.  
“Jesus- I don't know if I've said it before but your bedside manner sucks lady.” He hissed, soothing his shoulder with his free hand.  
“You're a pioneer. I know you despise this, but you're venturing into the unknown.” Her eyes shone with glee. “By all logic, this means that these should be dropping off. The flesh should be rotted. I haven't even heard of a virus that could affect melanin like this if that's really what's happening.”  
“I'm going to go completely black?” Leon grimaced. “I'm not sure that's-”  
“I can't say. You are the only person to have lived through this. It's had a 99.75% kill rate. You're the exception to the rule. We have no idea what it's doing. But to start at the finger tips is odd.”  
“The hell did you even make this from?”  
  
Excella sucked one of her cheeks and glanced to a stack of journals. She let go of his wrist and beckoned him closer.  
“We don't know.” She whispered.  
It was an admittance above all else.  
“The hell do you mean you _don't know_?!” Leon barked loudly. “You _made it_. What do you mean you don't know how it came about?”  
“Exactly that.” She put her hands up, wincing at the volume. Her words speeding up, tripping over some pronunciations.“We were just experimenting. Seeing what worked. We did... some very _odd_ things. You see this was originally going to be something used in the Weskers' end goal. Unlike the T-Virus, those it killed didn't return from the dead. So naturally, it was deemed the end of the road. But its uses were a silent killer much like Phosphine. Albert considered selling it on the black market to get more funds should the need arise. But it wouldn't be something the BSAA would be able to combat so easily, something to keep them busy and buy us time.”  
“I should have fucking known,” Leon growled, his brows dipping. “You say you're all about helping people and then you decide to sell something that you know will kill to terrorists. You're not the angels you think you are--”  
  


“And in my ventures, I found myself on the edge of a town that felt as though it was long forgotten by the reaches of time. Tall buildings in a pristine white stone that resembled that of the Renaissance in Europe. I wondered if I was truly still within the confines of Pennsylvania and if I'd somehow found my way to Italy.” Leon looked up and saw Wesker reading from one of the journals. “Such a thing is entirely impossible, as much speculation as there is amongst Physicists as to the possibility of multiple dimensions all following their own timeline. Such a popular theory is that when a decision is reached the universe splits to accommodate the outcomes of each decision thus leading to the possibility of an infinite universe. The more I researched this place the more I'd found whispered stories of a town that lost travellers found themselves in, but unable to return to once they'd left. Those that did find their way back claim that it wasn't as they remembered, but merely a mass of ruins forgotten to the claim of time.  
However much this notion baffled me, I ventured further into the eerily welcoming passageways of this town. I paid little mind to the way the walls shifted and adjusted themselves as I moved. The way the people who lived there appeared to be shadows with no discernible features. I told myself it was irrelevant, my goal was to track down creatures that had been spoken of amongst the hushed and sometimes panicked whispers. The far reaches at the very edge of town saw a change in scenery. There were a great many buildings in need of repair, gradually growing more dilapidated as I went.  
It was in this wasteland that the creatures were said to thrive. The way they moved was disjointed, sharp and unnerving. It was as though I was watching marionettes attached to unseen strings. They spun as though they followed a song or rhythm I had ears unfit for hearing. Their claws were long and unkempt, some with splits that were bloody and sore right down to the bed. I had no fear for their claws. It was the terrible gas that they belched forth in thick viscous clouds when they felt threatened. It was easy enough to avoid just one's assault, however, when banded together it was as though they could black out the very sun itself. The noise they made was unlike any I had heard before. Despite their approach I steeled myself, I would not leave empty handed, not after trying to hard to reach such a place. To leave like a coward would squander such an opportunity I'd been afforded.  
It was from the aid of a man with white hair that I was able to leave unscathed. He was flippant, disrespectful and irreverent, a poor companion for company in such a deserted town. I collected my sample and was told to leave.

I haven't been able to return since.” Wesker slammed the journal shut with a thud, his free hand in his pocket. “I do not believe in such fanatic concepts as angels or demons. What I believe in is evolution creating creatures fit for their environment, even if we may be unfamiliar to such places. No matter what Excella may try to tell me.”

Excella only seemed to roll her eyes at his statement.  
  
“The fuck are you saying?” Leon asked barely above a whisper. He knew Wesker had some odd ideas of what constituted science, but the sounded like something more likely to come from a knock off Lovecraftian novel. “How much had you been smoking?”  
“I'll have to know that it would have no effect on me, regardless of 'how much I'd been smoking'. Excella does not lie, we do not know how the virus was created. It pains me to say it was simply waiting within the labs.”  
“Then how did you get more samples?”  
“It expands to fit the container that it's in. We simply poured a small amount into other vials, when we returned the following morning they were all full.” Wesker paused, his jaw tightened. “Such vague and inefficient terms, are unbecoming, but this is the nature of what we're faced with.”  
“Seems pretty irresponsible of you both to mess with this. You didn't even know what it did.”  
“We're scientists, darling, this is what we _do_.” Excella snapped sarcastically. “Without us in the world people would still be scared of fire and believe Tesla to be a witch.”  
“If you didn't make it, then do have any idea where it even came from?”

Wesker shook his head. “There was no unauthorised access known of. We checked the cameras for surveillance but we found no salvageable footage.”  
  


Leon blinked several times, radiating disbelief. The more he heard the less he had any faith in their sense. They knew how to walk the walk and talk the talk, but this was a glaring issue. It was entirely a lapse in judgement. Wesker didn't gamble unless he knew the odds were in his favour; this was an anomaly.  
“What do you mean salvageable footage?”  
“The files and tapes were... corrupted is the best way to describe it. No doubt the result of an expert hacker...” Wesker paused. It was clear that this train of thought hadn't been completely explored. Or perhaps an epiphany had been reached that eluded them before. Whatever had crossed his mind caused some sort of distress as his expression became unreadable once again. “Either way, this is not a relevant conversation. You now know as much as we do about the nature of this creation. We didn't hide from you that we were unsure of the long term effects. But, we must act before we lose the light. If you wish to discuss this more we can do so on the way.”

 

Leon sucked on his teeth, his eyes narrowed. Wesker was hiding something, not that he was unaccustomed to that. When in doubt, Wesker was hiding something. Though Excella may have caught his train of thought, she was doing a better job of appearing neutral as she'd busied herself with the first round of tests.  
The two left the tent in silence. As much as Wesker seemed to not want Leon to ask questions, the agent couldn't help but notice the way the man kept glancing at him. It was to be expected, he'd asked a great deal of things so far, but there were too many loose ends. Too many questions to even know where to begin to ask. But the most obvious would be who would benefit from Wesker and Excella coming to possess the virus? It was clearly orchestrated, Simmons would have the means, but why would he want him to have that sort of power? Was there another group at play? An unknown agent thrown into the mix?

Ada was another possibility, but then there was the question of where she'd procured it. Where even Simmons would have procured it. He felt his stomach knot as he mulled it over. If there was an unknown other group, were they a threat too? What sort of people were they? Did they know that it would have worked on him? If so what else did they know about him? What else did they know about anything? What did they hope to gain from bringing this concoction into their scope of view? What did it have to do with this castle? Did they know about Wesker's plan? Would they come for them? Were they a _threat_?

 

“Pet.” Wesker's voice was like an anchor amongst the turmoil of his train of thought. He felt his breath catch as he shook his head to try and refocus on the world around him.  
In the castle. The corridors were unfamiliar and yet Wesker was but a few paces behind him. His stride had been quick and broad, enough to give a slight ache in the tops of his thighs, his calves burning. How long had they been walking? And more importantly, how had he known which way to go? He'd been functioning purely on auto-pilot and yet here they were.  
“You've been uncharacteristically quiet.”

He considered his answer, instead of looking at the Tyrant he cast his gaze to his surroundings, trying to make some sort of sense.  
This particular area of the castle appeared to have been met with effects of time more so than anywhere else he'd seen. To the left was an open courtyard, old pieces of furniture laid strewn around as though it had been carelessly thrown. The wood was mostly rotted on them, no longer fit for purpose, other than showing the passage of time. Moss was thick, crawling along the pillars, fallen leaves now the current carpet stretching the corridor. Where there were once windows, were rotted frames, the glass long gone. Saplings mingled with older, grander trees and plant-life. Despite everything that occurred within the castle walls there was still some form of hope blooming. Or perhaps he was being entirely too poetic about the place. It didn't detract from the rotten plaster that flaked, the missing bricks from the walls. It at least helped when gaining access to locked rooms. Wesker's broad shoulders inhibited his ability to so freely follow Leon as he slipped through the gaps as though fey-touched. No matter where Leon found himself or which gaps he snuck into if there was a way through then a door would open, in beckoning for the Tyrant to follow. If there was no way through, Leon would ease back out of the gap, sometimes with items or trinkets that once held some value to the long-forgotten inhabitants.

Wesker couldn't help but notice that one such trinket found its way onto Leon's person. Specifically his blackened hand. There were three rings, all connected by a chain to a fourth ring that rested on the back of his hand. A thicker group of chains connected the ring around his wrist. It appeared to be something that would languidly drape on its wearer, but due to the size of Leon's wrist, it didn't appear to hang as intended. Nonetheless, it was now present. The details were difficult to garner at first, but there appeared to be etchings on the rings. Runes of some sort, Wesker could only assume. Though how they would fit a man's hand when clearly designed to be a feminine accessory was beyond him.

His attempts to get through to the agent appeared to fall upon deaf ears, whatever rabbit hole he was being beckoned down, his concentration laid fully at that entity's feet as he chased its heels. He couldn't tell if Leon was in fact fascinated, curious or being lured. He could intervene should the need arise, at least that was what he told himself.

 

The trail appeared to grow cold as the two found themselves faced with a large set of double doors. Despite the architecture crumbling around the area, this section remained in relatively good shape. Wesker didn't wish to admit to the prickle of goosebumps he felt on his forearms at the foreboding atmosphere, but Leon didn't appear deterred. His gaze was fixated upon the only crack in the door. At the top of the wood work there were several rotted planks that had given into the test of time. Even if Wesker gave the agent a boost it was entirely unlikely for him to be capable of crawling through.  
“Pet, I believe it may be the end of this trail.” Wesker placed his hand lightly upon the agent's shoulder, “You've done well, but we should call it a day.”

At least, he'd thought he had. He turned to see that Leon had disappeared from under his grip, like smoke through his fingers. Wesker managed to catch a brief glimpse of the agent's form easing through another gap he thought impossible for him. There was silence. He'd seen things he deemed impossible long before he'd started tampering with viruses, things he'd allowed to be forgotten to the passage of time that remained only a figment. Things Spencer had told him to pay no mind to and being the impressionable and scared child he was, he did as was told. Things long forgotten snapping at his heels, demanding attention, but things he couldn't recall. Things he didn't _want_ to recall.

The door ahead of him jolted with a bang, making the Tyrant's once steady pulse pound in a frenetic manner. He had never been especially jumpy. Nor superstitious, even when faced with unfathomable places. This place was simply no good for him, he concluded. And yet as his unease grew, Leon's only seemed to have dissipated.  
Lo and behold, the door drifted open with a reluctant groan from the wrought iron hinges. Leon stood there, his eyes glazed over once more. The light behind him was patchy at best, possibly from holes within the ceiling. Where his left arm trembled from his trances before, it now remained relatively still at his side, save for a brief moment of flexing of fingers. The gaze made Wesker's stomach feel as though it had been filled with ice. Despite the unfocused appearance Leon was indeed looking right at him.

Behind the agent, Wesker caught sight of what could have possibly been blocking the door. A large solid oak table. Except it was now on its side, halfway across the room. Leaves looked disturbed from their resting place and an old gnarled branch laid under the table. The snap was fresh. As he glanced to the shadows there was a split second where he felt as though his eyes may have been playing tricks on him. The filtered light reflected upon something, he couldn't place exactly what, a deeper darkness within the gloom that even his inhuman sight couldn't penetrate. He jolted, focused on addressing whatever this thing may have been, only for whatever it was to slip out of sight, much in the same manner as Leon had been within his trance. Intangible and ethereal.  
As it disappeared Leon blinked, shaking his head and looking around, bewildered and unnerved.

 

“Did you move that table, pet?” Wesker asked slowly, stepping between the agent and the rest of the room. His attention diverted between Leon's now state of distress and the unknown stranger.  
“I'm not sure.. I don't-” Leon looked around, trying to soothe the dryness of his throat. “This was the room I was trapped in.”  
“Were you attacked in the dream?” The tyrant stepped towards the table. Sure enough there were fresh claw marks in the wood.  
“..No, but I felt secure.” Leon replied slowly. He glanced down the corridor, shuddered and closed the door behind them. Something nagging at the back of his mind that there would be trouble if he didn't. However he put that down simply to good survival practice in their line of work. Barricades between yourself and the hoards of the undead were always valuable.  
“Did you trap yourself, in the dream?”  
“I think she was trying to tell me it was a haven. I couldn't escape, but no harm would come to me. So I had to wait.” Wesker returned to the agent's side, his eyes narrowing as he spoke. “There was a threat. Or something.”

Slowly the Tyrant raised his hand to silence Leon, the other to his ear piece.  
“Dig teams, what is your status?” Leon mirrored Wesker and activated his own, all that could be heard on the line was the crackling of static. “Control, do you read me?”  
Nothing.

Immediately Wesker approached the doors and gave it a push. It didn't budge. He gritted his teeth as he used more strength, but sure enough it was as though it had been bolted on the other side. Superhuman strength be damned, it was all for naught.  
“Help me, will you.” It was a demand more than a request, though his efforts ceased when he spotted the familiar somewhat vacant expression on the agent's features again.  
“...You don't see it do you?”  
“What am I _supposed_ to be seeing?”  
“The threads.” Leon replied. He reached out and touched the door, though his hand stopped a mere matter of centimetres before the wood. His pupils shifted to slits focusing on something unknown.“It's like a spider's web. Covering the doors... Something's going to go wrong.”  
His tone sounded full of wonderment at first. But a dawning realisation crept onto his features painting it with that of distress.  
Once again Wesker tried the radio, though there was nothing. Had one of the signal boosters been destroyed?

“Shit.” Leon cursed as he thumped his fist against the door. The Tyrant couldn't help but be fascinated at how his hand stopped before the door again. If he hadn't been paying attention then he'd have written it off as purely psychological, but he saw his skin compress against seemingly thin air. Why did Leon's hands stop before the door and yet Wesker felt the wood beneath his hands? How did his not stop at the invisible barrier?  
“There must be another way out.” Wesker muttered, his arms folded. Leon may have been convinced they were trapped, but he wasn't going to fall to defeatism. Though he couldn't deny the creeping feeling on the back of his neck that they were being watched. He couldn't shake the shadowy figment from his memory. This entire venture had only sought to dig up uncomfortable questions and inconvenient truths. He tried to focus on Excella's soothing tones from early on in the excavation. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, reaffirming this was all about discovery and finding realities and confirming hypotheses. Some causing more discomfort than others at their discovery. He wanted this. He wanted to follow this through.  
He kept reminding himself of that as he strode deeper into the expansive library.

 

Or a grand study. He couldn't place which to define it as, all he knew was if he were in the business of antiques he'd have considered this a goldmine. Pages were worn, ink faded but the detail mostly remained. Despite the holes in the ceiling they remained unscathed. Perhaps what unsettled him the most was the feeling of peace that settled into him. Was it akin to a predator that injected its prey with a relaxant, easier to go for the kill whilst unaware? At least Leon appeared to be equally unnerved finally. The dynamic switching as dramatically as it had earlier wasn't a welcome change. He was the one that was supposed to remain in control. Hopefully Excella's tests would produce tangible results rather than further hypothesis.

“Pet, leave the door. If it won't open, it won't open.” Wesker pulled his attention from the shelves. Not to say he wasn't intrigued, but if trouble were to happen he wanted to make sure his men were aware. There would be plenty of time to go through the books later.  
The agent gave a low growl of annoyance, following Wesker's lead. He stuck by the Tyrant's side, though he remained fixated upon the 'webbing' across the door. Being trapped brought resentment. Understandable given the conditions that he had just come from. Having spent most of his twenties kept bound up by a cruel man's contractual red tape. At least they could relate on some level. The common ground and understanding perhaps he'd need if he were to truly steer Leon to join them. But like Ada he was somewhat free-spirited. Both drawn to follow their own moral code above all else. Funny how he seemed to attract such sorts.

Further back in the study, they found a small door that wasn't blocked. Inside was another small room. Something akin to an annex. A large window pane that gave view to more of the attempted forest. The feeling of bittersweetness lingered. A taste of freedom, but perhaps for a price. The bed was weathered, the dresser's legs long given out from underneath. Leaves scattering the floor as they did in the study.

“..This was Ocán's. When the lady of the castle grew sick, they turned to her to be their medic.” Leon uttered, somewhat transfixed. “If she was successful she earned this place as hers.”  
“Was she?” Wesker's brow quirked.  
“I'm not sure. But I think she left enough of an impression on it. It doesn't feel like the rest of the castle.”  
“...Yes, I'd noticed that too.” Leon looked to Wesker and regarded him with his brows raised. Perhaps he hadn't been expecting such a response, though he appeared pleasantly surprised at least. “What does the 'webbing' feel like?”  
“...It's hard to say.” Leon rubbed the nape of his neck. The scratch of his nails now proving to provide some sense of comfort. The warmth that blossomed at the touch seemed to ease the tension building in his shoulders. “It's.. cold. Almost like a cold damp, but with the smoothness of glass. But it beats. It beats like there's a pulse in there. There's something flowing through it to maintain it. Yeah, it's like touching a glass of water that's got a massive condensation build up. But it's thin. Lots of little layers building up like a weave.”  
“Glass? And yet it's not fragile.”  
Leon shrugged, a little lost for words. “I don't know what to tell you. I'm trying to explain something I've never seen before. I don't have the words to tell it accurately. If I could show you it'd be easier.”  
“This will suffice, pet.”  
“I can't stand being in here, knowing something's going to happen. What if the others don't-”  
“We can't do anything other than work with what we have. My men are well trained. I know it hasn't counted for much against the creatures here before, but they know the signs to look for.”

 

It felt as though hours passed. Though the light didn't dwindle. Leon found himself draped in one of the luxurious looking chairs facing the grand window. It showed the clearing that was visible from the annex room. Each tree seemed to be placed with a purpose. He was also fairly sure that he saw something akin to a fairy circle. This wasn't part of the Lord's castle. This had been overtaken by Ocán for the use of her stronghold. He couldn't identify the trees, he knew next to nothing about gardening. He only knew the plants with fruit you could eat, plants that were harmful or had their uses. Everything else fell by the wayside.  
Despite not knowing about the view he gazed upon, he felt an impulse overcome him. An impulse that felt like delicate hands trying to gently lead him. He couldn't see anything around him. He could only hear the breeze and the sound of Wesker examining the books. He wanted to fight it and stay put, utterly unsure of what was happening.

A voice without sound spoke to him. Beckoning that he follow them. He looked around, feeling a prickle on the nape of his neck. Nothing. Yet he found himself standing from his chair and following the tug on his left hand. When in the hell had he put the..bracelet thing on? Despite his body heat, the rings felt cold like the ethereal web. The pulsing travelling through the indents of the runes and up the chains.  
As Leon blinked he was met with a vision of long dark hair and a deep red dress. A hint of spices, perhaps a sort of perfume? This was Ocán's study, so it made sense her presence would be most felt here. Slowly he gave in, allowing the tug on his arm to lead him once more.  
  
He stepped over the threshold, what remained of the window frame into the garden. The breeze was cool, but the light was warm. Warmer than it should have been at this time of year. Despite this it was invigorating. The sweet smell of late blossoms filled the air. It was a personal grove. How much time had she poured into tending to this place? He was astounded that it remained standing and thriving after all this time.

His palm pressed to the bark of a tree. It felt.. calming. He knew in several societies and older beliefs that trees had their own properties but that was it. He was just increasingly aware of the thorns that grew above the blossoms. Long and sharp.  
_I can only apologise that you have been dragged into this. That you are now trapped as I was. Perhaps that is why your affliction took. Take a cutting from this tree. And take a larger one from the other behind you. I cannot do much for you, but I can make sure that you are armed.  
Return to this place regularly. Once the danger has passed. I cannot do anything for the others here, they are beyond my help. They reject the connection. But you, you are so open. Untainted despite all you have suffered. Perhaps there is still a hope._

The weight upon his left arm lifted. The coolness dissipated. He felt alone once again. But he was left with a tightness in his chest.  
Take a cutting?  
He grimaced but did as instructed. Careful to avoid treading on any flowers as he went. As he took a branch from the second tree there was a loud rumble from further within the castle.  
In his ear static burst, a frantic voice barely able to pierce through the interference.  
“Pet!” Wesker's voice called from the study. Without a second thought he bolted.

 

The large doors appeared to be straining. Something pushing from the other side. There stood Wesker, pressing against it as if he'd be able to barricade it by himself. Outside there was the same harsh growling they'd heard in the forest. Rattling, laboured breathing. Despite the apparent effort being thrown at the doors, they didn't break, even if they strained. The webbing however, didn't buckle against the weight. No matter how much pressure was placed upon the hinges and locks there was no sign of either giving out.  
Leon stood staring. He should have been frantically trying to help Wesker, and yet he didn't feel worried. Not for them at least. He looked back to the grove then to the door. Slowly the pieces slotted together even if it did sound like fanaticism.  
  
“He has no power here.” He said slowly. “He can't get in. Like she said, we're protected here.”  
“Don't be an idiot, the doors are about to give at any moment-”

The barrage stopped. Another loud, angered noise echoed through the gap at the top of the doors. But it appeared that whoever it was gave up. Wesker slowly backed away, putting himself closer to Leon. The two watched, with bated breath. Leon waited for the creature to give up, his fist clenched. Wesker aware of his heart in his throat.

The hope was short lived as another stronger hit made impact with the doors. Although it appeared it was simply a show of frustration rather than any real attempt to break the doors. Silence fell as heavy footsteps became a distant echo.  
“The others aren't safe.” Wesker uttered. “It wasn't that large when we last encountered it here. It shouldn't be.”  
“We don't know what the infection did to him. It could be like the G-Virus, just... seeks to make a bigger and worse killing machine.”  
“That's not what the progenitor _does_.” Wesker hissed. “It acts as a stabilising catalyst for other infections. Ocán shouldn't have had access to other viruses.”  
“How do you _know_?” Leon's shoulders untensed, trying not to think of where the beast was headed next. “We don't know everything that happened here. You said yourself in Kijuju there were accounts of mutated creatures. She went there. Maybe she found more.”  
“We didn't come here to fix someone else's mess.”  
“And I didn't come here to get mixed up in yours, but here we are. If you want to get to that ancient corpse then we're going to have to get to the bottom of this. Maybe consider it payment? Can't get something for nothing.”

His jaw had clenched. Being subjected to another's whims and terms wasn't something that had been on Wesker's agenda for this dig. But he was going to have to deal with it.

  
  


As the light began to fade, the webbing disappeared from the doors in a spectacular fashion. A howling wind blew through the broken windows. It sent leaves spiraling and dancing within its path. As it hit the door the webbing appeared to shatter, all traces of it gone. The display left Leon a little unnerved, but it had allowed the two exit from the confines of the study.  
Despite not remembering the route of their trek to the area, Leon managed to guide them back to the camp with relative ease. The tingling in his left hand acted as something of a dowsing system. Although the hotter and colder system seemed to have been turned on its head.  
  
The camp appeared no worse for wear, but there were a great deal of doctors rushing between tents. Some of the HCF's men laid on gurneys. Some already passed, others grasping onto what threads were left of their life. It'd been a slaughter. The two gazed upon the scene. Wesker appeared unmoved, but the way his fists clenched and brows dipped for a split second was all Leon needed to know that perhaps he did have a soul in there somewhere. It was more likely he was furious they'd been so unprepared. He'd have taken it as a sleight against him, no love was lost for the fallen.  
Leon wished he didn't have to be so cynical. His gut wrenched. How many of these men had families? It was always the same. Too much death seen in one lifetime.

 

“Albert!” Excella called. She approached hurriedly though awkwardly as she weaved through the others that rushed around the camp. Her hair was tied up into a hurried bun. She wore blue gloves, the tips covered in blood. “It's Henderson.”  
“Bastard.” Wesker cursed, beelining for Excella's tent.  
  
Sure enough the man was laid out, his hand clutching a wound in his side with the arm he had left. The stub came just above his elbow, the cut smooth, effortless. His skin was pale, eyes sunken and dark.  
“You told me this could happen, and yet I persisted anyhow.” He laughed as Wesker entered. “Perhaps it's poetic in some ways. One must always suffer for their art, mustn't they?”  
“You were attacked?”  
“I'm the only one left of my team.” The man coughed, wincing as it tugged on the stitches. “...Though that may not be the case for much longer.”  
“You're the driving force for the dig crew. I can't lose that morale you bring.” If it were anyone else Leon would have expected him to sound mournful. But all there was was bubbling rage. It wasn't the person he'd mourn, but the pawn.  
  
“I won't go so easily.” He glanced to Excella and nodded. “Miss Gionne has given me a choice, but wished to wait for your blessings. We have a sample of your blood, with it we could use it to heal.”  
“But then you'd be infected.” Leon interjected. “You can't want that.”  
“Coming from the young man who only seems to benefit from his.” Henderson groaned. “I don't know whether it will harm or heal, but I want to take that chance, with your permission. I am old. But I'm also selfish and I wish to see this excavation to the very end. Would you grant me that wish?”

Wesker appeared to consider it. His brows were dipped. But each of his HCF men were infected one way or another. The hive mind kept them connected at all times, or it should have done. It failed within the confines of the barrier. Only now was he aware of the terror some of his men felt. The chatter. The cries. The pleading to leave messages for loved ones. Henderson had no such ties. But like him, he was driven by the desire for knowledge. Knowing how important this dig was. How close they were to toppling Spencer.  
“Do it.”  
“Wesker, you can't-” Leon was silenced by Wesker raising his hand.  
“This is Henderson's decision to make. Not yours. You would deny a man his dying wish because it interferes with your morality? If it were him wishing for genocide in his name, I'd understand the sentiment. However, it is not.”

Leon grit his teeth. He shook his head. Viruses changed people. They had their own wills, pushed people to do different things. Yet here he was seemingly unscathed. Still more or less in possession of his own will. No finger digging away at the back of his mind, eroding his sense of self like the plaga had. It was what those who wished for power through viruses craved. He was going to be their beacon, their example of what viral infections could be for people. Just as Wesker was to Spencer's men. No wonder Henderson was so hopeful for a miracle.  
There was also the matter no one was discussing of what if it didn't work? They'd have a zombie on their hands. The infection could sweep through the camp because of one man's selfish gamble. And yet here he was, powerless to intervene. If he took out Henderson then there was no telling what Wesker would do to him.  
“I hope you know what you're doing.” Leon sighed as he left the tent.

  
  


The fire pit was supposed to provide comfort. But there wasn't any to be taken from the sounds of those wounded. Their healing factors not nearly as advanced as his or Wesker's. The pain still burning. Leon soon took to the edge of the forest. He sat perched upon a decrepit wall and stared into the darkness. Perhaps he should have read up on what the cuttings were that Ocán had lead him to, just _anything_ to take his mind off the hellscape behind him.

“Blackthorn and Hawthorne.” Leon looked over his shoulder and saw Excella. She gave a small apologetic smile. “May I join you?”  
“...Yeah.” He finally answered, clutching the cuttings tighter.  
“Where did you find those?”  
“Ocán lead me to her sanctuary. There was a grove full of trees and flowers, she told me to take these cuttings.” He shrugged and held the longer up. “No idea what they're for though. I just feel more.. at ease. But it's shitty. I shouldn't feel at ease, not after what just happened.”  
“Blackthorn is believed to bring calm to anxiety and depression, it's for purification and protection.” She cooed, settling on the wall, facing the camp. “Makes sense that she would plant it in her sanctuary.”  
“Yeah?” Leon snorted. “What about this one? They both kind of look the same to me.”  
“That's because that's Hawthorne. Both are similar, but Blackthorn produces Sloe berries, the flowers are also slightly larger. Hawthorne was considered bad luck-”  
“Oh great. Like I don't already have enough of that.”  
“Only because it was associated with witchcraft. Again, protection and purification. But these branches were considered to make the strongest wands.”  
“How do you know all this?” Leon couldn't help but laugh.  
“I have hobbies outside of work. Though I've always been fascinated about the science between cultures' spiritual beliefs. Kijuju only drove that home. We have something tangible to work with here. Albert may not be open to it, but there's more between heaven and earth than we shall know.” She paused and took the blackthorn. “Still... this is the most fitting.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Mm. Blackthorn is also associated with... How can I say this. Accepting a higher power's power over you. A strong action of fate. Right now, what we are doing could turn the tide in everything we're all working for. You are a catalyst that could change everything. This castle and its secrets could change everything. We're at the edge of our current era, staring out over a gorge with no way of knowing what's ahead of us. We could run ahead and accept everything that happens, or we could walk away. So many times I've had to talk Albert into staying here. To keep pushing through. Alex is... she's always going to be something that sways his decisions. She wants to look at other means to achieve their goal. Move away from such messy biological means and look into technology. AI, robots, augmentations, everything you'd see in a futuristic society. Albert's always been a bit of a technophobe though.” She couldn't help but laugh. “He understands this better than the new pioneering of technology. We're all something of a mish-mash, all putting our faith in different types of science to progress. And you. Just the every man trying to make sure that the world doesn't fall apart.”  
“You guys are pushing it closer that way.”  
“Perhaps. But how many people believed that developments in technology were going to bring the end times? A man threw himself under the first car because he wanted to show how dangerous it was, now look at us. People resist change and evolution for fear of being left behind or what it could do rather than teaching themselves.”  
“You saying I should try and learn more about my virus?”  
“Are you not? Albert told me about today. Are you nervous?”

Leon couldn't ignore how intrigued she was. He was a mystery to her. Something like a gift that kept on giving serving to fuel her hypothesis.  
“I don't know... I'm more worried that I'm not. I didn't want this. I can't do anything about it, but I know if I return like this then.. I'm not going to be considered myself. I'll be othered.”  
“Have you not already?” She purred. “Consider it. This may be a blessing more than a curse for you. It's all about how you intend to use your powers. Wasn't there some line from Spider Man about that?”  
“I think you're putting too much into the idea of me becoming a vigilante.”  
“Defecting against orders to do what you think is right? Are you not one already also? You're cut above the crop. You were meant for better things than being a cop in a corrupt town that would have torn your soul to pieces. If you weren't meant for this, it wouldn't have happened. The rest is however up to you... Sleep well Leon. I will keep you updated on Henderson.”

He wasn't sure if it had meant to be a pep talk. It'd left him feeling only more bewildered about everything. If he gave himself over to the Virus fully there was no telling what would happen. But there didn't appear to be anything... He was simply alone with his thoughts whenever Ocán wasn't there to provide commentary or a guiding hand. Perhaps that was what worried him the most, that if there was something there it worked slowly, wormed itself in so subtly that you only realised when it was too late. The blackouts were more of the worry. Losing time and finding himself in different places. What if Wesker had been causing them and wasn't telling him? There were too many questions and implications he didn't like the idea of. No amount of sleep would chase them away, and perhaps he'd just find himself staring at the top of the tent all night, but anything had to have been better than staring into the forest all night.

It was funny, in a tragic way. Even with Wesker offering him allyship, there were still invisible barriers and unspoken sets of red tape. He could have run. He could have bolted to the nearest city and gotten help. Yet something kept him rooted. Running didn't seem like a viable option. Maybe this was part of Wesker's insidious control over him. Learned hopelessness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ain't no fairy tale  
> What I see in your eyes  
> Awaiting your mistake  
> Not too close,  
> Not too far
> 
> Sneaking in the pain  
> Every truth becomes lie  
> I won't trust myself  
> Once I hear your call
> 
> I'm out of my head  
> Of my heart, and my mouth  
> Cause you can run  
> But you can't hide  
> I'm gonna make you mine
> 
> Out of my head  
> Of my heart and my mind  
> Cause I can feel How your flesh Now Is crying out for more"  
> SIAMES - The Wolf
> 
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	14. Living Dangerously

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon's slumber is interrupted by further unsettling dreams that hold implications he doesn't want to dwell on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Head lights, red lights, got it in my sights  
> Nothings in my way, No sound, hush now  
> Push the pedal down, got no time to waste  
> It's a long way home, You just crossed a borderline  
> When I say go, You know you better hold on tight
> 
> I don't know how to stop, I give it all I've got  
> It's like my brakes are shot, I gotta have too much  
> I don't know how to stop, Gets crazy but so what  
> You know it's what you want so give it up  
> And Don't be scared of how good it feels"
> 
>   
> NSFW chapter ahead

He recalled mentioning to Wesker about the generator making noises before he fell asleep. No doubt they'd wake up to darkness and none of the vital pieces of kit working. Which would probably spell disaster given the samples frozen in the medical tent, all those people hooked up to the few life support machines they had. It was probably making noises of disgust simply because of the sheer strain upon it now.

Leon slipped into his bed and rolled so his back was facing Wesker. The Tyrant was meticulously scribbling things in his journal and as such had the side lamp on. Not that it especially bothered him, he'd grown accustomed to Wesker's odd sleeping habits and the way exhaustion was always welcoming and beckoning him closer. He kept the cuttings in a glass by his bed, not entirely sure of their real purpose for the time being, but Excella's musings were food for thought.

Despite the way his mind raced about the potential growing body-count outside, it eventually silenced. Or at least he thought it did.

  
  


As he opened his eyes, he noticed the walls were different. Rather than the somewhat mud-stained fabric of the tent, he was met with stone. Once again he was within the confines of the accursed castle. But as it had been earlier, it appeared that he'd been walking without realising it. He recognised the aging stone, the crumbling architecture. He was headed towards the older section of the castle. Admittedly he had been curious about it, perhaps he was being obliged?  
As he glanced about the route he noticed a shadow. Most of the time in his dreams if he was met with such a figment he'd feel his back tensing, but he didn't appear bothered in the slightest. It looked familiar, but he was unable to place why.

He appeared to be following it.

Wesker's report for the day had said how he appeared to be fae-touched in the way he moved, hypnotised by something that wasn't visible to the Tyrant. The route differed somewhat. Areas that had been blocked off by collapses or excessive plant-life were wide open and inviting. The air smelt sweet. The pollen within the area rife – a hayfever sufferer's nightmare but it was enthralling to the agent, nonetheless.  
As he progressed he found the smell changed, hints of spice and a sharpness amongst it all.  
He was then faced with the familiar double doors. He could hear movement within, but the shadow in the corner of his eye beckoned him in further.  
  


In the corner of the room, he noticed Excella surrounded by almost comically tall towers of books, several bottles of wine surrounding her, some empty some untouched. Her concentration upon the books appeared almost frantic, bordering on a pure desperation for knowledge that was regarded as forbidden or ridiculed. Her hair appeared unkempt, rather than wearing the pink suit combination, she was wearing sweat pants and an ugly looking jumper - societal expectations of beauty she delighted in championing long thrown to the curb.  
Henderson lurched past him, a broad smile upon his features as he greeted the agent. He appeared normal until Leon saw his arm. It was an unnatural butchering of what an arm was supposed to look like. Too long, mottled, pulsing and small tendrils that writhed freely. He should have protested and left, but instead, he appeared to accept it. He beelined towards the annex room and closed the door firmly behind him.  
He could feel a smile tug at his lips as he slid his hands along the wood, the occasional rough patch scratching against his palms. He was delighted with anticipation. He was expecting something purely indulgent. A treat.

 

The broken window that showed the sacred grove was repaired. A stained glass in its place with no real pattern that didn't allow much else other than light to enter the room. It was however dark out. The sound of tapping grew louder as he slowly proceeded deeper. Torn between curiosity and knowing what was awaiting him.  
In the corner of the room, Wesker sat with a tablet and stylus.

 _Oh. Continuing with his report._ He thought absently. A shrug, and removed his jacket, shirt, kicked off his boots.  
He rolled into the bed, laid on his side languidly, watching Wesker with an odd amount of intent. He couldn't place it, but he was comfortable, anticipating and somewhat amused.  
“All work and no play makes Alby a dull boy.” He purred. _Alby?_ He was fairly sure if he actually called Wesker Alby, then he'd get a smack upside the head at the very least.  
What was further baffling was the way the Tyrant glanced up with a hint of a smirk.  
“Soon pet, I won't be much longer.”

He huffed in response and rolled onto his back. Absently Leon examined his hands. The black had spread further up his left arm, his black matte nails swallowed almost any hint of light that shone upon them. He would have thought given the nature of the viruses that his skin would take on that waxy sheen most of the infected had, but it was like dried ink. Patchy but with intent. It followed along the veins of his arms up to a concentrated mass on his shoulder where he'd been shot in Raccoon. Where it had once ached in the colder climes or when there was a change in pressure, it appeared docile.

What took more of his fascination were the markings on his right hand. It looked like he'd been tattooed. Ornate patterns, some occult appearing in theme. He'd appeared to have gathered more rings and other such decorations.  
But there was an unfamiliar arrogance that coursed through him. Almost lackadaisical, bordering on capriciousness. Such a feeling would have been reserved for entities that were of myth, beings framed as beyond human comprehension, their whimsies unknown and such a nature drove fear into the hearts of the people.  
His tongue dragged over his teeth, memorising all the dips and points. There was a hint of displeasure at the lack of acknowledgement. Such temperament usually reserved for those spoilt. He gave a slow move of his hand. The light switched off, plunging the two into mostly darkness, save for a few glimmers of colour from the moonlight trying to pour through the stained glass.

“Pet, I am capable of seeing in the dark. Be patient.” Wesker quirked a brow, but didn't deign to look at the youthful agent. Which appeared to get under his skin further.  
“Then I'll take my leave.” He sat up slowly with a disappointed shrug. “I have other things to be doing.”  
“You will wait until I am ready, Pet.” His voice drawled slowly, but there was a firmness in it which reverberated throughout his core.  
It felt like it set his veins alight. A weight set in his stomach that twisted. But rather than drive the familiar nausea, he felt something else twitch to life. His breath caught in the back of his throat. He should have been unnerved and yet he dissolved into laughter. Simultaneously restricted but... aroused. Did such power exist within the capabilities of the infected hivemind?

Leon raked his teeth over his bottom lip and exhaled measuredly. It felt like he was being touched everywhere all at once, and yet there wasn't a single hand upon him.  
“Looks like you're ready enough.” He chuckled breathlessly.  
“You don't expect such attention to come easily do you?” Wesker replied calmly, “Nothing is given for free.”  
“And yet you expect me to give myself to you freely?”  
“I expected nothing. You were the one so eager for a guiding hand.” He let the words roll slowly off his tongue, almost making a point.  
The agent shuddered, muscles deep within twitching and pulsing.

Instead of panicking about details, he shifted, relishing in the slow raking feeling along his skin. It seemed he would have to be the first to give in this time. A shame, he'd been looking forward to another evening of pushing the Tyrant to his limits. Distorted memories, fragments filled his mind, the feeling of their skin together, pinned whilst having his neck bitten. He felt his cock twitch.  
Gently he slipped from the bed, the cold of the floor on his knees grounding him somewhat. He should have cared that the hivemind was an open connection. That any of the HCF could have overheard or felt what was happening to him, but there appeared to be a grand lack of regard for any consequences – if there were at all any. His hands ghosted up the Tyrant's thighs, relishing in the immovable firmness under his grip.

Above him, Wesker gave a small growl. Bordering on a warning and approval. Constantly treading that thin undefined boundary was something he'd become a professional at. It was sometimes wire thin, but he was determined to navigate it like a high wire acrobat if he had to. To just push him that little bit further, to get him to relax and unwind in him. He salivated at the thought.  
He knew he should have been doing further research, taking the load off Excella and her team. Hell even just establishing contact with Hunnigan could have been possible.  
But instead there he was, Wesker's zipper lowered; hungrily taking in the sight of his package.

He didn't waste any time and seized his prize between his lips. Each lick and suck made the member grow firmer and larger in his mouth. He could hear each breath Wesker took, how hard he tried to pretend that it wasn't getting to him. But just as Wesker had crawled under his skin, he knew exactly how to do the same to him. If he wanted his Pet, then by all means, he'd burrow right under there and make his home. If he was to be utterly addicted to the Tyrant then he'd make the feeling mutual.  
Despite how fervent Leon was, Wesker maintained enough composure to avoid choking the agent. His hand soothed through the younger man's hair, diligently pushing it back when it got in the agent's eyes. There was almost a look of fondness about him.

But at least the pretence of working had been abandoned. Go figure that Wesker enjoyed being pursued every once in a while. The Tyrant set the tablet onto the side table and relaxed into the warmth of Leon's mouth. Every so often Leon would drag his tongue a little lower just to feel Wesker's thighs twitch at the sensation. A small sliver of a hint his composure wouldn't last much longer.  
“Report, Pet.”  
Leon let Wesker's cock slip from his mouth and exhaled softly. “Green.”  
“Good, carry on.”  
He obliged. Leon lapped at the tip, teasing the slit and rolling his tongue around it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Wesker's grip on the arms of the chair tighten.

His effort was rewarded with that creeping touch once more. It felt like fingers raking softly up the backs of his thighs. Thumbs digging in along the underside of his ass, never quite soothing over his hole, perpetually teasing at his perineum. _Give as good as you get_. He thought absently to himself. He wanted to grind down against the touch, but there was no friction to be gained. Teasing and maddening.  
Two could play at that game. It was still a stretch, but with a slight tilt of his head and determination, Leon managed to take Wesker down to the hilt. His nose buried in the dark bronze hairs. He deliberately swallowed around the length as best as he could before hollowing his cheeks.  
Composure appeared to be lost. As he glanced up through his lashes he could see Wesker's stomach tightening, his teeth clenched as his hand gripped the back of the agent's head. It held him in place as he jutted and rutted against him.  
His claws dug into Wesker's thighs, bracing himself for the impacts. How he wished he was doing this to his ass, rather than his throat. The warm sting that came with it. It should have hurt, but with each injury, his body knitted the skin back together ready for the next sharp thrust.  
His seed was bitter, saltier than he cared for, but the almost snarl of Wesker tipping over the edge was what he lived for. The echoes of his orgasm continued to ripple through him, the slight twitches and breathy sighs. The way he recoiled as Leon teasingly lapped and sucked. Wesker may not have enjoyed the possibilities that came with hypersensitivity, but he didn't know what he was missing out on or simply didn't appreciate it.  
  


Lazily, Wesker accepted Leon clambering onto his lap, the agent's smile wide and toothy. Instead of offering him the touches of the hivemind, Wesker continued where it had left off. He delighted in watching Leon desperately try to get more.  
When he first came into his possession he'd been hesitant and shy in some ways. He knew right away that the fuel had been shame. Ashamed of how far he'd be willing to fall, just to silence the chatter, the intrusive thoughts and memories – ashamed of just how much he wanted out. Fearful of his own darker thoughts and where they could lead. If given an inch just how many miles they might take him?  
Such an appetite this one had. How he looked at most with some form of intent. Always knowing how to kill or seduce with a glance. He had quite the way with the infected creatures too. Being higher ranked in the chain than them, they eagerly followed his will. Giving him all he wanted, and then some. He couldn't forget how far Leon had debased himself for the sake of curiosity. Curiosity that was born from the selfish desire to self-destruct and be reborn anew from the ashes of that chaos.

Wesker obliged, watching Leon's expression twist with each thrust, how he held onto him as though he were the only thing anchoring him. He made such delicious noises. How he'd pursued this with reckless abandon, how he rode him like his life depended on it. There was something enthralling about watching him slip from coherency into a blind frenzy. How he carried on even after spilling determined to reach some sort of wretched nirvana.

If there was something that needed doing, it was long forgotten...

  
  


Leon's eyes opened. The sound of the camp bustling like business, as usual, rang in his ears louder than he recalled it doing so before. His blood felt like it was on fire, singing a long forgotten hymn that wouldn't be quelled. It felt like it had been years since he'd been struck with an urge quite so demanding and yet here he was. Short of breath and almost on the brink. There was already a patch on the sheets that was somewhat damp and yet. He bit his lip and took a deep breath. He could deal with it, but he was also very aware that Wesker was in the bed across the tent from him. There was danger fapping, and then there was stupidity. Especially after the dream he'd just had.  
Oh god the dream he'd had. He covered his mouth with his hand, feeling something deep within him throb. It felt _good_. But he knew it was the sort of deep seated itch that would take more than he came equipped with, _funnily enough_. This was hell. He was finally in hell.  
In the past he'd been able to just slip away from the base or make a point to go to a bar after he'd finished work and find an available and willing body for a quick tryst. There was no way he was going to do something like that here. Especially not with the way Wesker kept such an intent eye on him.

His head flashed with another image from the dream. His legs wrapped around Wesker's waist whilst the man pounded him mercilessly-- He made a small strangled noise and grabbed his shower kit. The towel draped strategically over his arm so that it covered any trace of his arousal. But so many of the men within the base had heightened senses. What if they could smell it? What if they caught him?  
It was supposed to put him off, not make the feeling worse.

 

The showers were thankfully empty this time of the morning. Usually, this block was reserved for the female personnel, but there was no sign. Maybe they were all being merciful on him?  
He stripped his sweatpants off and turned the water on as cold as he could stand it. It bordered on being painful, but it gave him something to focus on. Regardless, his hand found itself wrapped around his already weeping erection. He wished he had lube or something he could substitute, something to let him touch himself deeper and relish in the cold heat it brought.  
  
Despite being horrified at his train of thought, he let the images persist. If he concentrated enough it almost felt like it was happening, the way his body would twitch, flex and pulse. He could almost feel the weight pressed against his back, the warmth of a certain Tyrant's breath tickling his ear-

He knew it wouldn't have taken long, he just didn't realise how close he'd been. His head swam and his limbs felt weighted. The cold had long crept into his bones only serving to further the ache. But it was an ache of pain and not his urges. He knew how to process pain and compartmentalise it. Feelings for the enemy-- it was just a dream, people could dream about others in a sexual manner all the time and not feel anything for them. Besides, what had Wesker even done to endear himself lately?  
The version of himself in the dream troubled him almost as much as the sexual nature. Sure, there were moments he was prone to sassing, but he'd never looked down his nose at someone in the way he found himself doing in the dream. Seeing one as beneath him so utterly. Wesker believed he was in control and yet he was blind to the fact he was being used.

He shuddered and turned the temperature up, finally lathering up his shampoo. The implications grew further unsettling that this wasn't a completely controlled experiment into the usefulness of this virus. He knew they didn't know the nature of it, where it'd come from. Was it possible that creatures spoken of in myth were symbiotic in nature? Passed on in bloodlines. He knew his mind was wandering to the fanciful and theories that would lead to him being laughed out of most scientific and historical fields. But history and science were inherently biased. For centuries journals tried to pass those of darker skin as being inherently more savage and animalistic to fit their rhetoric. History didn't acknowledge the amazing and powerful kingdoms of Africa and their capabilities. How they'd begun trading with Southern America long before Europeans had even 'discovered' it. Most of what White America tried to push as history was fabricated in some way... but did it extend even _this_ far?

 

“I didn't take you for _this_ sort of pervert. I know I've got an excuse to be here, what's yours?” The Italian lilt.  
There was a split second where Leon was aware that all he had to protect his dignity was soap suds and that the soap had made it difficult to grab anything. He hadn't expected anyone, too wrapped up in his own head to pay attention.  
“Ah- I-- shit- I'm not-” He scrambled to grab his towel. Of all the people to walk in. At least it hadn't been Wesker.  
“I know you're not that sort, Leon. What are you doing here?” Excella's brows raised, a small sigh of weariness in her tone.  
“The other one was too crowded.. I needed some space.” He cleared his throat as he _securely_ wrapped the towel around himself.  
“I appreciate we all have needs, but permission is usually acquired first for something like this.”  
“I know, I know.” He winced. “It was. Just urgent.”

She appeared to give him a once over before folding her arms.  
“He has a way of getting under your skin. I told you before. He... makes you want things you didn't think you wanted. Despite not being the most skilled at persuasion. Intoxicating isn't it. After all. I didn't think I would find myself here after all these years. I can only imagine how it feels for you.” She purred. “As much as he will promise to bring you back from the brink. How he'll allow you to delve as deep as you like into your... what's the word..? _Desires_. But when it no longer suits him, he will leave you to drown. Tread lightly caro, he may seem to promise you what you want, but remember he is a wolf battling with his own serpents.” She turned and headed to the exit. “Be out of here in ten.”

Leon swallowed thickly as he watched her leave. He couldn't deny how it had felt. But something nagged at him. His better judgement perhaps? He knew he could tap into the hive mind. It could have been intentional. Everything could have been orchestrated. And yet there were moments he appeared genuine. Did it happen enough to warrant pursuing that? --Wait why was he even thinking of pursuing it? The entire situation felt like he was struggling to grasp at his own will. To keep himself reeled in.

It wasn't like he'd already grown tired of debating whether he could trust himself.

Even though Excella had told him he had ten minutes to clear out, he didn't leave it that long. No where was private, as that encounter had taught him. He knew he lacked patience. The feeling of forgetting something had been nagging at him more and more recently. He knew he was out of his routine but he was missing something vital.

 

As he stepped into the tent he could hear a familiar jingle playing. The alarm clock. He wasn't surprised he'd woken up before the alarm went off what did surprise him was how he'd beaten Wesker to the punch. Normally the Tyrant was the one shaking him awake.  
“Pet, turn that wretched thing off.” He growled, rubbing his forehead as he sat up.  
“You'd had me here for months and you claim you've had my medical records and yet you haven't kept up with the medication my therapist prescribes me.” Leon replied blankly. The puzzle pieces finally slotting together. “You bitch about me not functioning properly, but I've been going into withdrawal and you've been fucking _ignoring_ it.” The indignant tone grew sharper. “You _knew_ what you were doing.”  
  
“And it's taken you this long to work that out?” Wesker's brow rose slowly. His red cat-like eyes focusing on the agent. “And where do you think we're going to be able to find your prescription out here, hmm? Shall I send one of my men off to the shops and pick up your pills?”  
“Fuck you.” Leon hissed, finding himself baring his teeth a little more than typical.  
“So you've woken up deciding you don't like me this morning? At least I know now before discovering it through one of your outbursts later.” Wesker grunted and swung his legs out of the bed.  
“You don't get to talk to me about god damn outbursts you hypocrite. Who decided to beat me black and blue because I hurt your pride and you couldn't admit you were wrong? Who decided to lock me in room so you could feel powerful?”

“It's a no prisoners sort of day this morning, then?” He stretched and begun dressing. His back turned to the agent. “Best you get it out now rather than having a tantrum in the castle.”  
“I'm not some god damn toddler throwing a tantrum I'm talking about you being no better than god damn Simmons. You're cut from the same fucking cloth as him, deliberately making me feel like I'm losing it so you can manipulate and invalidate me.”  
“I have apologised for those instances you mentioned before. We aren't without our own flaws, but I did not raise these matters with you because I didn't want that to be at the fore-front of your mind. We can't do anything about it so why concern yourself?”  
“Why are you so fucking incapable of being up-front with people? Surely it was something you should have had Excella raise in my check ups.”  
“Kennedy.” Wesker snapped. Leon jolted, biting down on his lip, fists clenched at his side. “I will not deny the importance of medication for your conditions. However we intended for you to die when you became infected. We did not plan for you to be in our care and as such we are operating as best as we can. We are falling short, but you are _alive_. Against odds. As ever. Does that placate you for now at least?”

“Keep me in the _loop_ next time.”  
“Is that all? You come in here screaming bloody murder about medication? Or are you having a short-tempered day? You've clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed.”  
He couldn't keep the red from flaring up in his cheeks. How the shame of his actions earlier came rushing back to him. He tried to speak, but could only manage a low huff and grimace. He tried to deny there were other reasons. But his mind had wandered in enough directions he was feeling stretched thin.

“I- just couldn't sleep. I needed to clear my head.”  
“Obviously it's not clear enough. You're doing an awful lot of scratching at an itch that seems thoroughly unfulfilling.”  
“You don't know shit about my itches.” Leon barked.  
“Defensive too. What a wonderful combination.” Wesker rolled his eyes as he pulled his excursion gear on. “Perhaps our task today will help you blow off some of that steam. You never know, you may even enjoy yourself.”  
  
He wanted to ask the Tyrant to change his phrasing, wondering entirely if it was intentional. But the way he held himself, he seemed oblivious. He was safe, for now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And now that I'm here with you // I Don't know how to stop  
> Here's what were gonna do // I don't know how to stop  
> You know you don't want me to yeah!  
> // I don't know how to stop //  
> How good it feels, tell me how good it feels  
> Don't be scared, scared, scared, Scared of how good it feels
> 
> I don't know how to stop, I give it all I've got  
> It's like my brakes are shot, I gotta have too much  
> I don't know how to stop, Gets crazy but so what  
> You know it's what you want so give it up  
> And Don't be scared of how good it feels  
> Tell me how good it feels, I don't know how to stop...  
> How good it feels.  
> I don't know how to stop"  
> Halestorm - I Don't Know How to Stop
> 
> [Like what I do? [Buy Me a Coffee](https://ko-fi.com/A7803S2B)]


	15. Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More and more pieces of the puzzle fall into Leon's lap, secrets upon secrets are handed to him. A new section of the castle is discovered but brings with it a new threat, or maybe it's unlocked their salvation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Time is the doorway, time is a wall  
> But choices forgotten come to haunt us all  
> just before the fall  
> ... within.
> 
> Time is the future, time is the past  
> With strings in a present state that'll never last  
> They vibrate too fast  
> ... to see.
> 
> Suddenly the curtain slips away  
> And there between your science and your faith  
> We learn enough to question everything  
> It's so strange  
> It goes BANG!
> 
> And every mind a universe contains  
> Another billion voices in your brain  
> Whose observation consciousness creates  
> It's so strange  
> A big BANG!'

Since the attack the previous day, the atmosphere in the camp had shifted. There had always been an underlying unease about the place, everyone had their own set of rules they followed – don't stay out too late, go to bed before 3am, if you hear something screaming close your eyes and pull the covers up higher, if your bunk mate is gone by the morning don't mention anything because no one will know and other such superstitious rambling.   
Leon couldn't help but notice that these men had been trained to be hardy and unflinching in the face of manufactured monsters, but when faced with the unknown they folded. Despite the hive-mind link, it seemed that the survival instinct of the viruses they'd been infected with cried out louder than Wesker's seemingly indomitable will. Despite the insect like nature of crowding to protect the will of the leader he'd associated with them, it seemed there was almost a seed of disobedience that had been sewn since his presence was added to the fold. No wonder Wesker was so quick to anger.

He couldn't help but laugh to himself. It was early and the rest of the men were still eating breakfast, but it was the sort of infectious laughter that no matter how much you told yourself to stop it only made it worse. It was like remembering an old joke that broke you over a drink. That drunk and uncontrollable laughter that rendered you shaking as your voice failed you, reduced to silence whilst you tried to remember how to breathe.   
Was it really all that funny? Leon couldn't find a way to tear himself off the train of thought. How it looped incessantly.

_Foolish little boy trying to wear the armour of a war commander, thinking it would bring him power and a means to escape his past._

Those words echoed and finally derailed him. Something else for him to become hyper-fixated on. No matter how he thought on it, there was something unfamiliar about the pattern of thought. Sure, he was accustomed to intrusive thoughts that were akin to a disruptive child in the back-seat of a car demanding you swerve off the road; but this had an entirely new tone. It wasn't entirely unfamiliar either. It hearkened back to the dream he'd had that night. How his dream self was capricious and arrogant. Arrogance may have come easily, through trained bravado and simultaneously not giving a shit – it was a new thing he had started to delight in but didn't agree to the consequential numbness that blanketed everything else.   
No, this voice spoke with the amusement which was associated with a being that knew too much. Those so old they had seen empires grow and crumble under their own weight and their ruler's hubris. Nothing was new. Nothing was surprising. It was calculated and knowledgeable. And yet here he was grasping at straws to try and even catch just a glimpse of this train of thought. If he was lucky maybe he'd be able to understand a glimpse of its wisdom.

 

Despite how jaded his line of work may have made him, there was still the naïve hope he clung to. That maybe people _weren't_ inherently this bad, that it was a mistake. Trying to apply some sort of order amongst the chaos of men who dreamed of ascension. This other voice remained unperturbed by the greed and egotistically driven actions of those around it.   
Since when did he start separating his depression monologue and himself to this extent? He couldn't fully accept it as his own. It felt alien and uncomfortable. Leon winced as he took a sip of mostly tepid coffee. It tasted better than the ration stuff he'd been provided before. Though that said more about the people he was now involved with. There was a great many things he'd say about the American Military system and none of them particularly flattering. Though it was mostly about the top brass; who needed self-manufactured conflict in foreign states to get the war money machine moving when someone took their need for war seriously?

Did Wesker and Excella even consider this? Most of the men and handful of women he'd seen around the camp were more than enthusiastic about being there. Henderson was case and point. Perhaps he was too jaded from the rhetoric of honour that came with dying for your country. Anyone could be a hero if they thought they were fighting for a noble cause. Wesker and Excella sure seemed to think they were playing the roles of saviours enough. But that was rapidly what those who remained after and affected by Raccoon were left with – changed by the events and thinking of themselves as the lone hero that could save everyone and everything. Such an excessive weight to be placed at the feet of a single individual.   
It was an uncomfortable train of though to be entertaining, but with Chris going off the radar and relentlessly pursuing Wesker and his HCF, it was an easy way to step away from the mundane and leave the day to day worries aside. It was like living in an action movie. No consequences. Just gratuitous violence and the warm fuzzy feeling of fucking up the bad guy's plan. No doubt that was entirely how Wesker viewed Chris these days – some cowboy who thought he had the biggest moral compass in the West.

So what did that leave him as? Ah, yes. The once boy scout, come something of a damsel in distress. Passed around from one inescapable contract that kept him trapped and under the thumb of some egotistical man playing god to another. He may not have known what Simmons' game was, but at least the man wasn't under any illusion that it was for 'the greater good'. That was a man who knew his goals were purely selfish to the point he behaved like some stereotype of an American fascist villain. But with all that power under his belt no one dared question him. It was all about getting off on his abilities.

 

“Maddening, isn't it?”   
Leon looked up, blinking as his tunnel vision left him. A quick glance to his watch indicated he'd just been staring into deep space for nearly an hour, mulling over his resolve within his situation. Somehow she always managed to show up, just when he was always starting to question just a little too much. Now he looked at her more, he noticed how her face was just a slightly different tone to her neck. The tiny almost invisible lines of where a brush had applied her make-up meticulously. The slightly off tone around her eyes. As bright as they may have seemed, there was no disguising the hint of bloodshot that came with insomnia.

“Mmm?” Leon rubbed his face, trying to shake off the almost doze he'd slipped into. How all his limbs began feeling heavy. The unwillingness to get up and walk around. How easy it'd be to just stay and lapse deeper into his mind.  
It was getting bad again.

 

“The more I watch you, the more I realise that Wesker doesn't realise you are nothing like Redfield.” There was almost a hint of pride in the way Excella spoke. The lilt in her tone as she rested her head on her palm. Leon had been used to the energetic, almost cruel way she had spoken when they first met. But the more they spoke the more he recognised a tiredness that ached. It was a meeting of kindred spirits in some way. Both handling a similar situation in entirely different ways. “Well, perhaps that's not giving him enough credit. I think he does. If he doesn't by now he's what's the word..?”  
“Oblivious?”  
“That's it.” She snapped her fingers as she pointed at him. Her once upright posture swapped for more of a slump. Excella groaned as she shifted slightly, soothing over her elbow that'd crushed against the fabric of her sleeve. “I think that's why he's so invested in you. I know I spoke about you joining us, but you might have guessed by now that's Albert using me as his diplomat.”  
“'the hell are you telling me all this?” Leon narrowed his eyes, giving her a disbelieving look. It was always _something_ these two. “I get you two have issues and aren't seeing as eye to eye as you did when you were kids, but I'm getting real tired of being dragged into your shit.”  
  
“He doesn't know how to handle you. You've noticed this place is in disarray. Too many of the men are questioning Albert's ability to lead – they saw him as the biggest bad in the pond, but then this invisible monster comes along? They're not looking to him to take them into battle, they're looking to him to keep them safe. He's never had to work with that before. He was taught people are pawns, so when faced with the concept of a duty of care? The favourites start to emerge.”  
“He had a duty of care to STARS?”  
“Temporary. I'd argue that he wasn't especially invested, but that's what he wanted people to believe.” She shifted again, straddling the bench whilst looking out to the castle. “He went into that not knowing if he'd come out the other side. I think some of this is entirely based upon instinct as much as it would pain him to admit. When you spend so much of your life just surviving you don't imagine a future.”

“I really doubt you're here to stroke my ego.” Leon drawled, rubbing the nape of his neck as he took another sip. His nose wrinkled at the too bitter taste that stuck on his tongue. “What's with the sudden tone of this all?”  
Her brows drew, not quite acknowledging his question, but instead looking for a way to strategically side step it. She had that expression of holding back. Something she'd become accustomed to wearing for most of her life. Biting her tongue on a secret that was eating away at her. How many times had she swallowed poison for the sake of someone else's safety... Or more accurately, perhaps, her own?

“Henderson woke up. I heard your argument with Albert, I've been thinking more on catching you in the showers.” Leon coughed on his coffee, “take your pick. Albert wasn't wrong when he said you were fucked from all sides, but I didn't realise the toll it would take our end too.”  
“So- now you're growing- a conscience?” The Agent spluttered, hacking up the dregs of fluid clinging to his throat.  
“Albert may tell you that a conscience is a privilege and I would agree with him to some extent. However what is being ignored here is we are a rabble that has been shoved together after being manipulated by those in power to some extent, we're all tetchy, untrusting and above all else _desperate_. I won't be some waif that demands a negative peace for the sake of an easy ride if I was then I'd be sucking up to Simmons and the rest of Umbrella. I am not more devoted to order than I am to what's right. But we all have our own ideas of what is justice. You would see Simmons and Spencer dragged before the UN and put on trial for what they've done. Albert would have his perfect revenge of seeing their names buried in the last vestiges of their crumbling empire.”

 

Leon hesitated before asking. Part of him wasn't exactly sure that he _wanted_ that information. Still waters ran deep and he'd seen how she delighted in cruelty against those she deemed her enemy. But she looked as though she was itching to be asked, to drain some of that poison from her system.   
“And what do you see as the perfect justice for them?”  
“It would be loud.” She replied, almost whispering as if caught up in a fantasy she'd played over in her head repeatedly. “It would be as messy and unapologetic for all the chaos and misery they've brought over the years. Perhaps I could be cast as being no better than them. But a defeat so intrinsically damning and unapologetically loud for the whole world to be seen. People like them don't deserve the luxury of discourse and compassion. They've launched a war in their quest for God status, they aren't interested in talking anymore. So you need to loudly denounce them. You need to scream to the world I am not one of them. That should be the barest minimum.”

“No wonder you call yourself the monster that protects him.” Leon finally said after a pause. No wonder she was considered the front liner of Tricell. Her passion was overwhelming. Despite being on the 'wrong side', she still believed so fundamentally in everything she did. She was just playing the long game. Maybe she was the one using Wesker rather than being used. Or maybe she told herself that. _Shit_ , she probably _knew_. But had no other option.

“Women are only classified as going mad because it's a means of silencing their power. It invalidates their voices.” Excella laughed. “I unapologetically embrace that label of monster. Because what's more horrendous to those men than a woman who doesn't cower from it? In some ways I'd say you're one too.” Leon opened his mouth to say something but Excella raised her hand. “Labels that serve to other have always been used as tools to undermine those without institutional power. At first glance you seem to be just some American white boy doing as he's told by Uncle Sam. But you're not. You're also a queer. You're not neurologically typical, you're also a little bit more feminine in some ways than it makes them comfortable. With your PTSD after Raccoon, the military wouldn't take on a depressed man such as yourself, but they _had to_. A man with such undesirable traits to those fools is their god damn _expert_. You're considered a national hero after Raccoon, Javier and Pueblo. Do you realise how much it spits in the face of everything they stand for? Of course they had to enter into some ridiculous power play just to keep you in line, who knows what wonderful ideas you could get if you only knew how much you defy their notions of the ideal white picket fence all American fighting machine.”

 

The fire in her eyes had returned. Her back hadn't quite straightened up, but she was arched firmly over the table, staring intently at him. Something had her absolutely frothing. Like Wesker, she was projecting an expectation on him. She had high hopes for what he could provide. And it jabbed at him deep within. The way his gut wrenched nervously, that intense fight or flight instinct kicking in. But it was suppressed. He knew he had to survive. He couldn't bite back, he couldn't keep escalating his backlash because they could handle it and take it further. So he needed to tread lightly. And yet the new voice that echoed in the back of his head hissed in defiance louder. Amused but equally insulted at the prospect of having to quietly endure the abuse. _You could take them out with little thought. They are insects compared to us._  
And yet the more he looked at Excella's expression, he almost felt like that defiant flame was being encouraged. Sure, it was how she wanted it to be, but she was giving him the green light to keep on as he was.

It was infectious. He felt a warmth burning within him. The same fired up attitude that he'd had when he marched to the Raccoon police department to sign up and show the force up.   
“We are the undesirables of society, but here we are. Rounding up an army to kick the status quo to the curb. I may not enjoy the presence of Alex looming ever present in Albert's shadow, but she is equally one of us. Perhaps in some ways, she has a greater understanding than any of us. Chronic illness, coupled with a myriad of mental illnesses brought on by abuse and is a woman. Kafka speaks to her on a fundamental level because he was a bisexual, disabled Jewish man and the Metamorphosis was about how he viewed himself as ugly because of it in the face of anti-semitism.”  
“What stops you from connecting with her?”  
“Perhaps internalised misogyny. Jealousy. She is eternally frustrated with her limitations, but she works well with what she can. I am someone that could rip the carpet out from under her. As far as she's concerned this world can burn in all it's made for itself. She wants to tempt Albert down that path too, but I am telling him to fight.”  
“Will.. Will Wesker like you talking about her so casually?”  
“He has spoken to me about her, you know about her existence so there isn't a secret to be kept any longer. Besides, who else do you think besides myself pays our men?”

Leon cleared his throat and leant back. She certainly had a way of making someone feel included. But after spending a lifetime of exclusion, of course, she'd understand the necessity of it. But there was always the nagging that he couldn't join them. That it wasn't as safe as they made it out to be. That this wasn't the right way. Or was he just being one of those people that sat on the fence because the solution was too ugly to be considered noble? _Weakness_. He was sure he heard the virus hiss.

 

“I see how it is, playing favourites, are we? Arguments for me, but civil discussion with her.” Wesker's voice cut through the silence. His brow was quirked above his shades. Though if Leon squinted he was fairly sure he could see the faint glow of his eyes behind the glass. His arm twinged at the thought – a small reminder as to why.   
“I just have a better understanding of your pet, that's all~” Excella lilted, puckering her lips slightly in a smug smile. “He's clearly feline. No 'loyal dog' barks back as much as he does.”  
“Yes, but felines were considered so perfect that it wasn't necessary to change them in any way.” Wesker shot back.   
“First off, fuck you and your damn couch.” Leon interrupted. “Secondly, she doesn't treat me like a pet. Maybe a lesson in courtesy is in order.”

The comment seemed to wash right over the Tyrant as he dropped a bag of kit on the table in front of Leon. It clattered loudly and made the table shake somewhat. Whatever was in there.. there was a lot of it. Wait.  
“Are these for me to use?” Leon glanced at the bag and then to Wesker.  
“Hah.” Wesker finally settled next to Excella and rummaged in the duffle bag. “No. The men have their orders today. A small group are going scouting to see if there's any trace of the 'Hookman' today if so they're going to gather the paintings and burn them.”  
“Well. There is the _other_ thing.” Excella tilted her head towards Leon, maintaining eye contact with Wesker.   
“What other thing?”

 

He hated when they ping-ponged things back and forth just to wind him up.  
“We're missing bodies.” Wesker finally replied  
“And I guess there aren't any wild animals in the area that'd just... sneak in and see a meal ticket.” Leon grimaced  
“Exactly, some of those deceased from the attacks last night are no longer in camp.”  
“Did anyone _see_ them leave camp?” Leon couldn't help but wonder if today was going to be a search and retrieve rather than a scouting mission like always.  
“If they did, no one remembers. Which is troubling, to say the least.” Wesker picked out a pistol and examined it. “Twitchy and un-rested soldiers who are having memory issues are more likely to make mistakes. At this point in time, we can't allow that.”  
“And what if they've been taken by something else, are we prepared for that?” Leon's brow rose, regarding the other man with his usual scepticism.  
“We're going to have to be. Besides, don't you have that 'haven' should things go south?” It almost sounded like a jab at him, almost. But the glance that they received from Excella deterred Leon from snapping back.

Something about the prospect of getting into the castle and being allowed to let loose, it made his infected arm twitch. It'd been a while since he'd been able to just beat the shit out of a punching bag, to just blow off steam and walk away feeling refreshed. But there was a wariness about him too. As tempting as it was to go into a berserker like state it usually meant you left yourself open to more harm than being able to take as many out as possible. To have that luxury came with having an insurmountable power and a recklessness he didn't possess. But there that feeling was again, this almost constant and pervasive nagging at the back of his head, telling him to indulge, to let go.

He knew from Manuela that viruses had this knack for temptation. His particular brand had only spread as far as it had on his arm because he was holding it off. Normally once the virus was in the system it didn't need long to take control of the host. An hour or so, even less as he'd seen once or twice. But there was nothing normal about the way this virus left him feeling. Perhaps this was a test? Perhaps _everything_ was a test. Which led him back to the point that always exhausted him. He could speculate as much as he wanted, but in the end, it was all moot because he wasn't the one holding the strings.

“So maintenance for today?” Leon coolly replied, looking from the weapons bag to Wesker. The Tyrant hummed in response, a small nod as he rubbed a cloth down the barrel of his pistol.  
“Today is a wait and see sort of day. I'm also concerned about your flip flopping energy levels. One day you're fine and then the next you're in a slump.”  
“If I had my meds then it wouldn't be as bad.” Leon muttered.  
“I'm not talking about your depression, pet. I'm talking about your habit of passing out. You weren't prone to being a swooning damsel before the infection. I'm aware that I have been pushing you, so today you're saving your strength. After all you retained enough bark to be sharp with me yesterday. Use that strength for something more productive.” Leon sucked his teeth loudly in response, not quite able to keep the look of distaste from his features. “I have you on the radio, I'll make sure you're fetched if you're required.”  
“Oh shit, you're letting me out of your sight for more than five minutes? Master has given Dobby a sock.” He chimed sarcastically as he got to his feet.  
“I am more than entitled to change my mind, pet.”

 

Leon waved him off and dumped his mug into the bucket of soapy water by the mess tent. He didn't know what to do with himself. It wasn't as though the camp was a beacon of excitement. Although..   
He found himself drifting to the tent where Henderson's team had been gathering research about the castle. Nothing about Viruses or kooky mad scientist bullshit, just historical research. Maybe he could get some more answers about Ocán and the rest of it.   
He wasn't expecting to see Henderson actually in there though. There was a brief flash back to his dream, of the researcher's arm being a writhing mass of tendrils. But the man didn't look any different. He looked to Leon and a smile crossed his features, cheerfully beckoning the agent in.

“Ah! Leon, this is an unexpected surprise, what brings you to my neck of the woods today?”  
He blinked and found himself at a loss for words and simply shrugged in response. “Wesker told me I was on call but not needed... so I guessed I'd clue myself up on this place more. There wasn't much information given to me before I got... here.” The delicate way of saying 'taken hostage'.

Henderson gave another cheerful noise and beckoned Leon in. His arm swooped over the young agent's shoulder.  
“A man who respects history as well as a skilled soldier? Your kind are far and few between let me tell you. Come, come, sit.”   
He slipped away from Leon and pulled up another chair, dusting off some dead leaves from the fabric. The gesture left Leon wondering exactly what was going on, whether the whole thing was another trick to keep him sweet. But, he didn't get those vibes from the man. He was here because he was genuinely interested in the castle.  
“Uh, thanks... How um.. how's the..?” Leon awkwardly gestured to his arm. He could hear his commander from the base running through the list of appropriate responses to infected people who appeared normal - sitting down and making chit chat with them wasn't on the list.

“The..?” Henderson paused, half way through pouring out some hot water and looked to his arm. He laughed once more when he realised what Leon was talking about.“Oh yes! My arm. Well she's certainly better than the old one. I'd broken it years back on a dig and it never set back right- my own fault- and it'd been giving me grief ever since. Sure, I still get a slight bit nervous when I'm walking around tarped over excavations but it'll teach me for being so clumsy. Now, how many sugars, my boy?”  
“-- one is fine, thanks.” Leon was once again completely caught off guard. My boy? How old was this guy? Sure he didn't look a spring chicken, but he didn't look old enough to be calling him 'boy'. Come to think of it he hadn't given it much thought before.   
“You can have as many as you like.” The researcher looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow and a coy smile.  
“...Three.”  
“There we go!” He smiled and handed Leon the warm mug. More coffee. But damn if it didn't smell better than the stuff from the mess tent. “Don't tell anyone, but it's Arabica coffee. If anyone from the team knew I'd snuck this along I wouldn't get a sniff in edgeways.”

 

Leon couldn't help the relaxed smile that crept onto his features. There was something distinctively homely about the man, especially the way he extended his hospitality.  
“My lips are sealed.” He replied easily.   
“Good, good! ...Now I suppose you didn't come here just to have a chinwag with an old man, so what can I help you with specifically about the castle?”  
“I'm guessing multiple extensions on castles aren't exactly normal?”  
“Hmm, well you see it's more common than one would imagine. Specifically these sorts of builds have a supernatural element associated with them. Most of the time there will be a room in the middle that is considered cursed or an ill omen. The rest of the building will be like a maze so as to confuse spirits. Uhm, have you heard of the Winchester mystery house?”  
“That weird place that has windows inside and stairs that lead nowhere?”  
“Yes. To Sarah Winchester the objective was to keep spirits out as she believed that the souls of those killed by Winchester rifles would try to hunt her down and take revenge. This place? It's more akin to that of Houska castle in the Czech Republic.” Leon shook his head, beckoning for the researcher to keep going. “It's affectionately known as the hell pit. It was built over a large hole in the ground that people claimed unnatural beasts would crawl out of and kill the local farmers' livestock. So the Lord of the area had it built like a fortress to keep the evil contained. They claimed that those who were lowered into the pit emerged as though aged, screaming and died shortly after.”

Leon felt a chill run up the back of his spine. “That's... nice.”  
“I doubt we're dealing with something so horrendous. After all, you've been bringing us most of our information, but I am eager to see this haven you discovered. Imagine the knowledge contained within the books there.”  
“I hate to be the harbinger of bad news but, the roof was fu-” He paused and reconsidered his wording. Something about swearing in casual conversation to a man who was clearly in his fifties felt weird. “broken. Lot of damp, lot of nature reclaiming the place. Maybe in one of the libraries closer to the entrance.”  
“That was where I lost this.” Henderson lifted his mug to Leon, probably meaning his arm. “I had found something interesting but I lost sight of it after the crew were... taken out.”  
“I'm sorry.” Leon rubbed the nape of his neck, feeling that wave of guilt rush over him. “I can keep an eye out for it when I'm next in there?”  
“Would you?” Henderson gave a small gracious smile. “You've been more help to me than you know. But you have the better luck. Whatever lingers in these halls favours you, so it should be fitting you attain it. I'm thankful that you keep me in the loop. Really I am.”  
“Ah.. it's.. it something to take my mind off things.”  
“I'm sorry you've been strong-armed into this my boy. I know those two aren't always the easiest of people. But what it is to be young and galvanised.”

 

“How did you get mixed up with them?”  
“Umbrella.” He admitted with a look of distaste. “Before Spencer had the other directors killed the company was really doing good things. Excella sourced a lot of her paper on some of my research and Albert was nothing if not a curious soul. The man wasn't made to be a soldier. He's too interested in how things work. But he lacks patience, he especially lacks the patience for computers. When he came to me and offered me an out I took it.”  
“Do you hate Spencer that much?”  
“I grew up hearing stories about the workings of men like him. I saw the lasting effect it had on Europe. How they believed that someone was superior to another by some sort of genetic lottery. It was preposterous. All for the sake of power.”  
“Spencer is..?”  
“He authorised the use of deadly force upon the tribe that tried to stop him from getting access to the Progenitor plant. The only thing that stopped him was an aggressive cease and desist document from the rest of the board and the threat of reporting his actions to the UN. That man didn't see them as people. They were obstacles. To him they were nothing more than insects defying their 'betters'.”  
“I see..” Leon finished his drink, brows dipped.   
“I couldn't work for a man like that. And it brings me so much pain to see history repeating itself. The world is quick to forget and reject Historians' warnings. I hope Albert listens to your warnings. You're learning such vital things from this place, perhaps it'll remind him of his priorities. Well, he's awfully fond of you so I expect he's listened more than he's aware of.”

If Leon had any of his coffee left then he might have spat it everywhere. It was one thing to hear Excella teasing the Tyrant in her sing song tone but to hear it from a man who radiated earnestness and a British properness was another entirely. Instead his cheeks burned, staring at the table filled with artefacts.  
“Uh- I don't know about that-”  
“He's tripping over himself trying to string up any excuse he can to keep you around. I hope he manages to convince himself because you're charming to have around. Someone to keep him rooted. Excella's lovely don't get me wrong but she's just a little out of sync with him. You seem to know the right times to push back and to encourage him.”  
“Should we be talking like this?” Leon gasped, covering his face with his hand. He was mortified, utterly mortified.  
“Oh dear I'm embarrassing you aren't I?” Henderson commented, but there didn't appear to be any remorse in his tone. “I'll have to go easier on you in future.”

Thankfully, Henderson did let the subject drop and directed the conversation further towards questions that lingered about the castle. He was utterly fascinated by the hawthorn and blackthorn cuttings Leon had returned with after the last excursion. Although the book that Henderson had been reading brought up the most questions amongst them. Henderson claimed that the cover itself didn't appear to be anything noteworthy, but the writing within was a sort of pidgin dialect scattered about with various symbols that he didn't recognise. He wrote down what he could remember, but even compared to old alchemical symbols nothing matched.   
Soon their attention returned to the book they'd found in the abandoned village, Henderson showed Leon various entries that were of interest and spoke of the demon contained within the walls. Something he hadn't raised to Wesker, although they both agreed to take the usage with a pinch of salt. Still, Leon couldn't help the nagging at the back of his mind, the 'demon' and the infection brought by the Progenitor flower were perhaps linked?

 

There were a few more entries left, one covered how the village had celebrated the death of the Lord. The details were sketchy, or simply unimportant to them. Their tormentor was gone, life could continue. Although the entry ended quite abruptly...

“Leon.” The agent had expected it to be his earpiece, but he looked up to the entrance of the tent. Wesker appeared hurried.  
“Are we needed?” Leon almost sounded surprised.  
“The team radioed in, they made contact with unknown hostiles.”  
He seemed to be intentionally vague. Nevertheless, Leon thanked Henderson for his time and quickly followed the Tyrant.

He was aware of Wesker's brisk pace and how he kept handing him various pieces of equipment as they travelled through the camp. He even got a bullet-proof vest for his troubles.  
“Are we moving out?” Leon asked, strapping himself into the kit.   
“Not yet.” Though there was something hesitating about his tone. He was restless. “Another team has been sent in to bring back remnants of whatever it was for studying. We're on standby if more show up. I'm sorry to have dragged you away, but we have to be ready to leave immediately.”  
“Alright. Where were the hostiles found?” Leon cocked his head as he looked at the map Wesker had led him to.

Ahead of them, Excella was glued to a headset and circling various areas of the map, each with different coloured markers. He assumed that these were points where the sightings had been made. He couldn't quite hear what the soldier on the other end was saying, but Excella was notably using a soothing tone.  
“Are there more?” Wesker asked quietly to Excella, his brows dipped.  
The woman's brow quirked in response and she gave a shrug.   
“Nothing that's approaching.” She whispered before returning her attention to the radio. The two men watched her expression. She looked as though she was struggling to hear something. “Do you copy?”  
  


Despite the constant shuffling of employees from the camp, there was a bizarre element of silence. Perhaps the chatter had been shifted to the hivemind instead. Leon couldn't tell, but he spotted Wesker squint at the radio and put his finger to his earpiece. The agent looked at the dial and mimicked the gesture. All he could hear was the laboured breathing of the soldier on the other end of the line. Panicked was all he could determine. Something stuck with him though. There was a trace of scratching in the background noise. Barely audible, but it was the sort of noise that only came from claws skittering across hard floors. One minute it was there and the next it wasn't.

“I'm at the agreed rendezvous, but the other squad isn't here.” The soldier said, forcing a calm tone. There was no hiding the controlled rate of his breathing. In, one, two, three... out, one, two, three, and repeat. One, two, three. Leon was sure he could set his watch to it.

“Can you hear anything?” Leon asked, interrupting Excella.  
“No.” A pause. “I don't know. I don't think I'm alone.”  
Wesker shot Leon a questioning glance; he shook his head in response.  
“The castle does that... But you might not be wrong.” Leon raked his teeth over his lower lip as his face scrunched. He knew that probably wasn't what the guy wanted to hear, but, the way he saw it, it was better the poor bastard was prepared. Excella cleared her throat and frowned at Leon. “I'm looking at the map and there should be a room you can barricade yourself in until they get there.”  
“I don't see anything like that. No doorways. Just straight hallway.”  
“There should be rooms all down that hallway...” Excella spoke up. “Did you go left or right at the last turning?”  
“I followed your instructions lady, I don't know what you want me t'tell ya.” The soldier sounded strained.   
“That can't be right... Alright, what does it look like?”  
“Portraits, the varnish has made them go brown... The ceiling's low, more recent feel than anywhere else... There's an archway ahead... Yeah, I think there's stairs.”  
“Do they go up or down?” Excella's brow quirked as she looked at the map. The place he was describing seemed to be the opposite direction he'd been heading.  
“Down. But there's boards in the way. Looks like plant-life has grown over it all.”  
“Max, you're in the north wing, not the eastern section. Is the Greenhouse down the hall?”

As the soldier stepped closer towards the archway, Leon felt something wrack through him. The scratching noise seemed to be getting louder.  
“Max? Max, are the boards moving?” Leon blurted out. He could feel the burning feeling in his fingertips. The uncontrollable twitching in his fingers getting worse. He grasped at it with his other hand, squeezing it to try and soothe the feeling.  
“The fuck? No they're not doing anything. You're freaking me out more than this damned place is.”  
“Pet-” Wesker gave a warning look.  
“Max I mean it, don't go that way. Go back the way you came.” He winced, the burning soon replaced with an unforgiving chill that ached over his shoulder.

 

Leon seemed to be oblivious to the unspoken conversation that Wesker and Excella shared. The Tyrant looked to the map and quickly scrawled on a scrap of paper ' _is it possible that he got the map wrong?_ '  
Excella shrugged and continued trying to work out exactly where Max had gone wrong. ' _L_ e _on isn't normally wrong when he gets a bad feeling. Back up your pet's orders_.' Again, she waved the man away as she began talking to what Wesker assumed was the other group.  
“Max, listen to Kennedy, you're to change route. Behind you, there should be another route that will lead you to the rendezvous.”  
“I can see the squad,” Max said, it was almost flippant.   
Wesker looked at Excella who shook her head.  
“Max, listen to me, Excella is on the line to the recon group, and they're not in your vicinity.”

The line went quiet. Leon could hear movement, but it was too close, Max was on the move. Not quite an all out sprint, but he was moving quickly. Neither Wesker nor Leon dared to speak, intently listening to try and discern what was happening. If it wasn't the recon squad he'd seen, then just who was at the end of the hall? Suddenly there was a loud scuffling, something creaked and the heavy breaths started once more. But there was a distinctive echo. It was a confined space.

“Max, report,” Wesker said firmly.  
“I don't know what the fuck's going on.” The soldier huffed. “I'm behind a painting. There's a break in the wall and another passage.”  
“What about the others you saw.”  
“There's.. There's something not right about them. They didn't move right. I've seen how infected move, but that isn't it. Infected behave like their limbs are too heavy. This looks like something shoved on a human suit and's trying to work it out.”  
“Breathe. What were they doing?”  
“Just as I got in here I saw them coming down the hall.” His voice hushed. “Think there was something to Kennedy babbling about those boards. I thought they were coming my way but they don't give a shit-”

 

As if on cue, there was a loud crashing sound. Then an equally loud noise of pain. Another noise. This time it sounded like splintering wood. Max gave a huff, but the sound seemed distorted, a distinctive crackling of static reverberating through the channel.  
All Leon could think of was what Henderson had mentioned. A place like this was built to keep something contained. Was there more than just the Hookman in the castle? But this was the newer part of the castle. This wasn't from his time. Who came after? Who had refurbished the place after his death?   
It wasn't long before he could hear a distinctive pounding. He wasn't sure if it was Max's heartbeat he could hear or his own.

He could see the soldier almost as clear as day. Leon blinked but the vision didn't seem to shift. It was dark, but there was a glow from the headpiece that Max had on. He could feel his heart fluttering. It was like everything had slowed down. That dull blue hue over his line of vision. He narrowed his eyes, staring down the passageway Max had found himself hiding in. Something was looking back at him. In the utter darkness, he could see two small reflective circles. They had to be where the end of the corridor was though. But whatever he was looking at quickly disappeared. He could feel almost a huge gust down the passage as it left.   
The thumping started up once more in the hall. Almost sounding like he was hearing an echo rather than being no more than a stone's throw away. Leon tried to will himself to move, but it felt as though he was fixated to the spot. Like something didn't want him leaving.  
He tried to chalk it up to Ocán maybe, but the more he thought about it, the more he could feel... something wasn't right.

 

It was then he heard the breathing. It wasn't Max's or his. Yet it sounded as though it was right by his ear. A wet, heavy laboured breathing. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn't even turn his head. Thick knuckles twisted through his hair, something looping behind his arms to keep him restrained. It was then that Leon realised the gravity of the situation. He couldn't tell what it was, but whatever it was was big and radiated malice.   
Out in the hall, there was the sound of footsteps. They seemed to have an off rhythm to them. It wasn't staggered shuffling, but more a pivotal movement, relying upon momentum. 1-2,3,4. 1-2,3.1. 1,2. 1,2. 1, 2, 3, 4.... _5_. 1. 1—2—3. That horrendous shuffle scrape with each step. 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2. 1, 2-3, 4 5, 6. 1, 2- a slip. Then silence. Max's eyes were wide. His heart hammering relentlessly. Those fingers gripping tighter in Leon's hair.

 

The painting was removed and an arm that was far too long reached in. But Max didn't see it. That was when he realised it wasn't solid. It was nothing more than a shadow cast upon the wall by the light of the soldier's headpiece.   
He didn't see it grab Max. His vision blacked out. But something echoed in his ears. He couldn't make out what it was. It was an impossibly deep voice with a vocal pattern that seemed as though it was speaking backwards. But it was loud. Like whatever it was had been shouting. That amused malice peppered the edges, almost smooth.

It left him feeling wretched. His innards felt like they were on fire. The back of his hands prickled and itched. It hurt to move his arms, but he felt his hands curl around whatever had grabbed him. Nails that didn't seem like his own dug into the flesh deeply. He heard the wet squelch. Something trickled down his hands. It didn't feel like blood. It was too thick for that. But god it burned. It was impossibly hot, yet he didn't recoil. His wrist jerked as his fingertips dug deeper into the arm.

Then words he didn't recognise left his mouth.

 

He felt an impact. Then quick speaking voices. He was cold again. Under his face, he could feel the grit of the floor. It smelt dusty. His head rung. Slowly he looked up and could just about see the outline of the table.  
With a groan, he rolled onto his back and looked up, squinting at the late afternoon sun. Wesker crouched down to pick him up. He was definitely saying something but he couldn't quite make it out. Concussion? How in the hell did he get a concussion?   
Wearily he rubbed at the side of his head, finding the presence of Wesker more comfort than he'd comfortably admit. He was a familiar element.

“Pet. Pet? Leon, can you hear me?” There was a franticness in the way Wesker spoke, giving the agent a gentle shake to try and rouse him.  
“Max is..”  
“We lost contact with him, yes. What happened?”  
“I.. I don't know. Something dragged me there. I watched something _grab_ him. There's something under that staircase. Whatever was controlling those soldiers wanted it out. But I don't think they could touch it.”  
“Excella lost contact with the recon group not long after you went into your trance. They were lost too.”  
“We've got to stop those things from getting out of that lower level. I don't know what it is, but they can't.”  
“I'm not sure you're in a fit state to go anywhere.”

Leon groaned and put his hand on the floor to push himself up, twisting to reach for the table as well. Whatever happened there, it was a means to intimidate him. To stop him from interfering. When he first arrived, he would have recoiled. Just like he had from the double doors to the dining room, but something burned in his veins. An indignant tone, almost as though it was saying 'how dare'. It was that same whispering he'd felt, like the capricious arrogance. Whatever this was, it was being tested. Part of him aggressive about the nerve of whatever that thing was, but the familiar soothing tones that almost seemed like the cello he'd heard in the theatre telling him it was more important to keep whatever was in that lower floor locked away.

Wesker must have caught a glimpse of the determined expression the agent wore as he backed off only to help him to his feet. Leon was oblivious to the look he was being given by the other two, that look of pleased calculation. Perhaps not quite what they were aiming for with him, but an opportunity to see how he handled himself.  
“Fine, we'll get our gear together.” Wesker conceded and put his pistol in its holster.

 

Despite Excella remaining on the radio should they require it, there was nothing but silence. Wesker followed the agent, less fae-touched this time but instead moving with purpose. It didn't seem to matter if Wesker pointed out that they should take a certain route instead, once again Leon was either oblivious or intentionally ignoring his instructions. Although perhaps this only lent itself to the notion that the castle could.. adjust itself. Still, so much for being able to instruct him. It seemed the only way to make use of Leon in his trance state was under far more specific circumstances. Circumstances that were almost impossible to replicate. Maybe it relied more upon the power of suggestion than outright ordering?

Upon almost giving in to the nagging sensation of being lost, Wesker found himself picking up on the echoes of impact upon wood. It was loud. Leon had most definitely heard it, as the agent pulled out his pistol. Amongst the sound of the impact was the sound of wood being scratched by claws. Frantic and desperate.

As they rounded the corner to the corridor in question it was here that he observed that passiveness within Leon once more. He didn't appear as though he was capable of moving like he'd frozen up on the spot. Dead ahead of them was a cluster of what Wesker had assumed were his soldiers; at one time perhaps. Instead, he could now see what Max had said.   
They didn't move like the other resurrected creatures that the T or G Virus made. There was something that appeared to be an attempt at elegance in their movements. Whatever it was it didn't work. At a first glance, they looked normal, but it was as though an illusion had dropped upon further inspection. From where their bones had been broken, whatever had taken hold of them seemed to try and cack-handedly 'fix' this ailment. Their arms stretched too long. Their fingers and hands were longer and thinner than what should have been there.

Wildly, these beings flung their arms against the boards over the staircase and cried out at the impact. It didn't sound human. Both too deep and simultaneously too shrill, layers upon layers of tone.   
Wesker had heard of some monks learning to use both sets of vocal chords at once thus leading to the phenomenon of 'throat singing'. This, however, didn't sound anything like it.

These were the bastardisation of humans. Almost a deliberate mockery. A vision of a human through the lens of corruption.

 

Closer to them, he saw a crumpled over form. Blood streaked along the wall and impact marks. The painting that concealed the entrance to the passageway had been thrown carelessly aside and there was blood on the exposed brickwork. He could only assume that this body was Max.   
He'd seen many men he worked with die. Even before the HCF, he recalled those in STARS. In their line of work, it was normal. It was to be expected and those he worked with knew those expectations.   
But he also knew how much of a bleeding heart that Leon was. Senseless violence made him bristle. To see what would happen didn't stack up as a justification for him. And yet here he was, held back by those morals.   
Perhaps not.

As Wesker stepped closer towards the agent, aware of the sound of his footsteps, he saw how pale Leon was. The pistol that had once been raised with a jaw clenched full of defiance now hung limply at his side. Had it become so bad? The way his features were twisted as he tried to hold back some sort of outburst. Wesker took no delight in the after effects of these failed attempts Spencer had authorised, but Leon had barely been an adult when he saw the horrors for the first time. He hadn't had the luxury of watching the effects in a clinical environment beforehand. The shock was still firmly in his system. And it was the shock that had taken a firm hold of him.

The real question was whether it was Raccoon, South America or Pueblo he saw. Which one did this instance nag at the most? Push those buttons to the point of seemingly complete shutdown? Twenty-seven years old and to have already seen more death and carnage the average person would only ever see mirrored in media. To have survived it all. Such an impressive instance of resilience. But to shut down at the sight of this?   
An old part of him would probably have called him pathetic. But it wasn't a thought he entertained. Such were the words a certain Oswald E Spencer would use. 'Pathetic and broken beyond use'. No. Broken perhaps, but not unfit for repurposing. He wasn't prone to such wastefulness as that man.

He'd always known it to look at Leon, to listen to his bristling, this simply confirmed that there was a limit to which he could force him.   
“This wasn't your fault.” Wesker uttered simply as he took a step in front of Leon.   
It was a means to put himself between the infected and the young man now in an almost catatonic state. The reaction may have been disappointing, but also some part of him was entirely unsurprised. Leon was prone to pushing too hard at the wrong moments these days.

 

The younger man seemed to respond, but it wasn't something he registered. Too quiet, too hushed. More like an exhale attempting to impersonate a whisper. He didn't have the time to think about what was going through Leon's mind. If anything was at all. But he needed him out of the way. Impressive feats may have come naturally to him with his new body, but he wasn't confident in his ability to keep Leon safe if he was being nothing more than a sitting target.   
“Pet, you'll have to move. You can't stay here like this.” There was a delicateness in his tone, placing a hand on Leon's shoulder to guide him to the passageway. “If you won't fight, you're in the way.”  
Upon the last statement, Leon seemed to halt in his tracks. Wesker almost found himself about to sharply reprimand him but noted the ease that Leon allowed himself to be guided beforehand.

That night when Leon had wandered into the downpour. That blank state of receptiveness. The idea made something within him feel as though this was... improper. To use him in such a state. It was a new sensation. Once he wouldn't have given it a second thought, yet here he was struggling with the ethics of utilising someone in a semi-unresponsive state. He was too unpredictable. Too prone to divergence to trust his usefulness.  
“Do you hear me, pet? Respond.” Wesker questioned.  
“Yes.” Was the simple answer. Leon didn't appear to look at him, his gaze fixated on the scene before him.  
“Are you willing to fight?”

The answer took longer to coax from him this time, but Wesker couldn't help but notice the way Leon's left arm flexed its grip. The fingers jerked and sharply clasped seemingly nothing, more like he was testing his hand after a prolonged lack of use. The chain connecting the rings shifted with the movement almost making Wesker wince, aware that there was every possibility that the infected that were barely twenty feet away could possibly hear the delicate clinking over the racket they were making.   
Steadily the agent gave a shaky exhale. Wesker could see under the surface of his skin some muscles twitching although he didn't appear to be moving anything.

“Pet?”  
“Command. What is it you would have me do?” Leon spoke, but there was something in his tone that sounded distant.   
“I must know if you are capable of fighting, first.” Wesker's brow rose, giving Leon a brief glance over once more. Again, there was no reply, but his hand curved, accentuating the way his nails had started growing sharper recently.

In the distance, the wooden panel shattered. Ahead of them, limbs that weren't entirely unlike those of the infected seemed to fold themselves out of the stairwell. Like it was hauling itself up out of a hole. Whatever traces of skin this creature once had seemed to be mottled and blistered. It looked similar to that of the Crimson Heads, the way the skin peeled and caused excessive bleeding. But whatever this was appeared... stretched like the others. What caught Wesker's attention was the apparent extra joint in its arm it seemed to possess. The noise it made was horrific. Pained and angry. Perhaps this being was aware of what it had become. Those cursed with self-awareness as they mutated further into deeply grotesque beings were always the most difficult to deal with.

 

“Pet. If you're going to fight, do it now or else we're both going to suffer for it.”  
Wesker wasn't prepared for the reaction he was met with. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leon roll his shoulders and neck.  
“Normally you can't _wait_ to give me orders.” The agent stretched and Wesker watched as the veins on the left side of his neck appeared to go black. The skin around it slowly growing darker like his arm. What caught him the most off guard were his eyes. The cat-like slits. “How dull..”  
“Now's not the time for your games.” Wesker almost growled through gritted teeth. Wait, where was Leon's pistol? He spotted it on the floor next to the agent's feet. He'd dropped it?   
“You're no fun.” Leon almost sounded disappointed as he began his approach to the wailing hoard.

Wesker barely had time to see him move before he broke into a sprint towards them. The fight seemed to be a blur, almost senselessly he'd charged into the middle of the group. But Leon seemed able to grasp the rhythms that moved them before they could even touch him. Despite their tendency to cluster, Leon seemed capable enough of separating them just long enough to get a blow in. His right arm was armed with his knife, using it more as a means of navigation than offense. The blade dug into the middle of the infected's back and he pulled himself up, swinging a leg over its shoulder and then using its utter lack of balance to bring it to the floor with his own body weight. With it down on the floor Wesker noticed his veins glowed as he pressed his left hand to the neck of one of the infected. At first there was nothing, and then Wesker smelt burning. It appeared slow to take effect, but by the time he'd caught up the infected soldier on the floor burst into flames.

Fire.

There was now god damned _fire_.

They hadn't put T-Veronica into the mix with this virus, so where was this coming from?

He hadn't even seen Leo grab a lighter as they left the camp. Not that this seemed to deter the infected, however, if anything it seemed to make them more frantic. The creature desperately trying to free itself from the broken staircase screaming louder. Its claws dug into the floor around it, splintering and leaving deep trenches in its wake.

He knew Leon to be a capable fighter, but he wasn't aware of him engaging in such close quarters combat with infected so willingly. He'd seen how he handled himself against the Hookman, this was different. There was an almost glee in the way he forced these creatures to the floor and tore segments from them. He'd never seen anything like it from the agent.

 

_T-Veronica? When did we put T-Veronica into the mix?_ It was the only explanation he could fixate upon. The way Leon's veins lit up was reminiscent of the virus. But in the paperwork about Manuela it required blood. The blood was what became the fire. But Leon didn't show any signs of bleeding whatsoever. In fact, the only blood that was on him was that of the infected. And yet there he was as though he'd awakened his inner arsonist.

Leon had mentioned once in an offhand comment that there was something conflicting in the way he felt about fire. If it was the scent of woodsmoke he didn't mind it so much, but there was a distinctive ache that came from the smell of burning flesh. It helped against infected, he was objective about that much. And yet here he was almost _playing_ with it against them.

Just as he set one ablaze, another managed to careen in his direction. Instead of pinning it to the floor, Leon clambered upon its shoulders. His nails spread out and with a firm swipe just above the creature's mass it was suddenly sent crashing to the floor. Something in the way they swayed and fluctuated seemed to make the gesture make sense. It was as though something was making them move like they were connected to strings. As though he'd just cut it.

 

There was no further movement from the infected and before Wesker knew it the body count had racked up around him. Leon seemed to be the other side of him each time he blinked, barely able to provide anything in the way of support. For the first time, he felt utterly superfluous.  
Well, until there was a god awful crashing sound and a disfigured face appeared from the staircase. Out of the corner of his eye, Leon had just dragged an infected along the floor face first before tearing its arm off. The Tyrant felt as though the world had stopped moving in that instance. It finally looked as though it had taken some effort, but as he let the infected drop, his expression looked far less delighted. He appeared calm. Like he was taking a moment to have a breather. Leon's shoulders dropped and looked towards Wesker. The Infected that he'd torn up dropped like a sack of potatoes. He gave him a small but content little smirk as he walked past him towards the howling monstrosity that was left.

As he passed by Wesker he helped himself to the knife he kept above his holster, leaving him with a knife in each hand. Despite the erratic movements of the creature, Leon seemed able to get out of its way, even if it was at the last second. Though this one moved so much faster than the other infected. Was this what they would turn into? But unlike the others, he didn't notice Leon looking up before attacking. This time he waited for each hand to slam into the floor before jamming a knife right through its wrist. It tried to thrash against it, its screaming unbearably deafening and more aggressive. But it was effectively pinned it seemed.

 

“You got any grenades..?” Leon asked with his hands on his hips. “I've got an idea..”  
“You've had your fun showing off already. This had better be quick.” Wesker responded dryly, despite this he unhooked one from his belt and placed it in Leon's hands. There was that look again... He almost skipped towards the beast and stood just above it. Its head couldn't reach him, despite the strain on its wrists acting as far more efficient anchors than it had been capable of managing.   
It opened his mouth and he ripped the pin out. His opportunity ruthlessly seized - he let it drop.

 

The creature didn't bite down, but it definitely seemed to swallow the device. In the blink of an eye, Leon grabbed the knives that had been holding it in place and letting it fall to its fate. It tried to scramble back up, frantic and desperate, but it couldn't get a grip having already worn away the majority of available handholds. Wesker braced himself and sure enough, the fuse reached its end. The explosion shook the building. A distinctive wet splatter shot out of the creature's mouth and stained almost pristine carpet on the stairs. Portraits fell from the wall, dust dropped from the ceiling and the hideous arms stilled, slowly slipping back down wherever it had come from.

“Pick your mouth up off the floor, there's still more to deal with.” Leon uttered coolly, handing Wesker his knife back.  
Wesker took it, but Leon was met with a reserved look. Wesker didn't have a clue what he'd just watched. There were too many unaccounted variables. This didn't make sense. It was unexpected. The complete change in attitude.   
He didn't really say anything in response but followed suit. Watching the way that Leon moved. Like the infected they'd just dealt with, it was as though he was following his own unheard rhythm. But unlike theirs, his could change at a moment's notice. The conductor rather than conducted.

 

They made short work of the consequent infected they came across on their way back to the camp. It hadn't been long after they'd destroyed the creature in the hole that Wesker received a transmission from the base camp that it wasn't just the castle the infected were suddenly appearing in. Something had managed to get into the system of the bodies they were going to empty into a mass grave site. Wesker tried to press Leon, see if he knew anything, especially as he seemed to know to cut these... invisible strings. But he didn't appear all that interested in answering. Either that or.. he just _didn't_ know. It wasn't the first time since he became infected himself that he had knowledge with no recollection of how he learned it.

The body count at the base thankfully hadn't risen any higher. The majority of the teams left had been quick to respond to the commotion. Each at the camp knew the drill. Each had their own role to play, even those who weren't combat trained to the same efficiency as the soldiers. As Wesker watched Leon carve through the infected, he received regular updates from Henderson. Only really half paying attention, still too entranced with watching the way the agent made his way around his enemies. He almost believed if he watched for long enough that he could discern whatever unheard music was guiding him. It wasn't quite capoeira, but he was definitely combining his parkour and gymnastic talents with his knowledge of close quarters combat.   
The way he slipped around them. One moment he'd be upright, the next he'd drop to his knees and knock their feet out from under them only to shoot back up and send another flying with just a punch.

As effortless as he strived to make this look, Wesker wasn't a fool. He could see that this sudden burst was beginning to take its toll on him. His skin taking on a paleness, the way he looked when he was first infected. That sickly fragility that had made him seem so delicate. He was progressively slowing down, starting to rely more on Wesker's support to back up his combat capabilities. Although Leon didn't seem intent on framing it in such a way, he tried to hide it behind his playfulness. Knock one of them in the Tyrant's direction to shoot it in the head. Trip one over and let Wesker land a well-placed stomp on its weakened skull. Slowly falling back to the same pace Wesker held, his shoulders heaving with his breaths. That awful rattling that clung to his chest. The symptoms were increasingly familiar and his body language slowly eased back into normality. But the silence didn't shift.

The agent was too caught up in trying to keep himself upright to make small talk. He could barely remember what had happened. It was a blur, simultaneously too fast but patches, where he felt like the world, had stopped around him. He was aware of an ache deep in his muscles. Like he'd gone too hard in a work-out without properly warming up. _Shit,_ he just wanted to sleep.

 

The bridge was a welcome sight but also gave way to a glimpse of the unexpected.

Excella.

Whatever she had done, Leon and Wesker only saw the tail end of it. One second the infected was shambling towards her and the next it had a fist through its head. The body left slumped and only held up by Excella's forearm.

“Ah, there you boys are.” Her brows rose quickly, pushing off the remnants and grimacing at the mess it left. If Leon had the energy he'd have given her more of a surprised response, but at this stage, he was content to just leave anything and everything to a weary acceptance. “The radios jammed not long after you reached Max's location. Did he..?”  
Wesker shook his head, adjusting the grip he'd made on Leon. Before he'd just walked closely to maintain the image of support, whereas now he was all that was keeping him on his feet.  
“I see. Any sign of the recon team?”   
Another head shake. Excella let out a noise of exasperation.

 

“Something was under that barricade, as Leon had predicted. Seems like there's another level we didn't know was there. Once this is all dealt with, we'll return to inspect. Henderson said there were no casualties?” The three made their way back across the bridge, walking and talking. As much as he wanted to return Leon to where he could spread out quickly, there was no making him move faster without picking him up.  
“We've rounded a few of the bodies up to perform some tests on them. We don't know if this is an after-effect of unleashing the black smoke virus. It's possible it's been lingering and steadily infecting those who enter the castle.” Excella lifted the flap to the medical tent and gestured to the several specimens.  
“It's not.” Leon huffed as he slumped onto the bed. “Ocán brought the Progenitor here. It's possible that it's evolved.”

But if that was the case then there would be no need to excavate the ancient corpse. They'd have all that they required. He didn't know what that would entail for him if they had what they needed. But something in his gut told him this still wasn't over. There were still too many loose ends. Perhaps it was his own curiosity, but he couldn't help but feel like they'd been presented with only _further_ questions rather than any being answered. If Wesker wasn't at least mildly interested then he wouldn't have brought Henderson, right?

 

It felt like he kept drifting in and out of consciousness for hours. One minute he was in a fitful dreamless sleep, the next moment he'd open his eyes and Wesker and Excella would be doing something entirely different. He wanted to care, but he couldn't. All that mattered was sleep. He was too warm, too comfortable.

He didn't stir until the sun had long since set for the day. In the corner of the room, Excella and Wesker were huddled around the desk, fixated upon whatever was on the screen. The tests? The silence was unnerving, normally they would be chattering about implications and theories. Whatever this was had them dumbstruck.   
Slowly Leon swung his legs off the bed and approached. His head thankfully wasn't pounding, even if there was still the lingering ache in his muscles. Walking wasn't too bad, it was worse when he first put the pressure on his legs. It was worse than the day after leg day.

“Anything interesting?” He asked offhandedly.   
“Yes and no.” Excella pointed to a particular cell on the monitor. “This is just a sign of the virus he'd already been infected with. There are only minuscule changes but there's nothing we can discern at this point in time.”  
“It's possible that this was an unknown side effect of the virus we gave them.” Wesker cut in. His arms folded, wearing that stern look. He didn't know and it irritated him.  
“But that doesn't explain the group we found in the castle..” Leon tried to wrack his brain, for anything he possibly could recall of that fight. He knew in his gut it happened and had hoped that rest would make it clearer - but nothing.  
“We'll find out more about that tomorrow. In future, we'll have to be more careful with our dead.” Wesker unfolded his arms and headed for the exit. “Lights out in an hour pet. I know you only just woke up, but you need more rest.”

 

Leon nodded, albeit a little awkwardly. Admittedly he wanted to check something with Excella. He knew that Wesker taught her how to fight, but he didn't know she was _that_ strong. Maybe it was something that they all knew and he was just the last to find out – like always. So why did she look so guilty when they saw her? He shook his head and made to follow Wesker, he had too much to write down, blanks to be filled in to be adding more questions to the pile.   
“I would appreciate it if you don't mention seeing me like that.” Leon winced as Excella spun her chair to face him.  
“...I didn't say anything?”   
“And keep it that way. Wesker is afraid of anything that could overpower him. His thoughtlessness caused this and thankfully he hasn't thought to question it. Whether he knows or not, it is an unspoken topic and it will stay that way.”

There was a solid silence between them as Leon narrowed his eyes. Excella had many things to hide, that much he'd always known, but this? Realistically it didn't matter how rotted the body was, the bones never seemed to become brittle when it came to the infected. She'd managed to punch through it's head. Like it was just a watermelon. Looking at her she didn't appear strong enough for such a feat. Sure her arms had some definition, but it looked no more than the product of toning workouts rather than strength training.   
But she made the move first. She assumed he'd have pieced something together about it. She came to him to ask for his silence. ' _Wesker is afraid of anything that could overpower him_ ' – They'd had a child together. Ocán had shown him the infection could travel through bodily fluids. His hand shot over his mouth as the revelation sat weightily in his mind. She was infected too. But she didn't look like the other infected. She didn't register with the same eerie glow that the others did when he squinted. He couldn't ever hear her presence.   
  
“Are you saying what I think you're-..?”  
“I'm not entirely unlike himself. Although this was before he had the T-Virus added to his system. Since then he's... taken more care about his...” She paused. “ability to spread infection, shall we say.”  
No more bare-backing for those two. Message received loud and clear. Leon's nose wrinkled and gave a nod. Somehow he didn't ask to be clued in on Wesker's sexual habits and yet here he was, being told them anyway. Just what he needed when he'd managed to forget that dream.  
“Good talk. Let's not do this again.” Awkwardly he directed some finger guns in Excella's direction and took his leave.

But it answered something at least. She was able to manipulate those within the hivemind. Perhaps not even connected in the same way, but enough to influence. And unlike Wesker, it seemed she didn't have any issue invading the privacy of others. Although, that could make things... easier in some regards. He'd grown accustomed to a smooth female voice being in his ear during missions. It wouldn't quite be the same, but he'd take comfort where he could get it at this stage. Even if he was very aware that he was being used by both of them, he couldn't help but feel more compelled by Excella's situation.... but that could have been the effects of her unknown abilities. Great, more to think over.

 

It wasn't complete peace as he got up to stretch out the tension in his overworked muscles. Despite Wesker telling him he had an hour before lights out the Tyrant had other plans for him. Unlike Excella, he'd taken notice of how the virus had manifested itself further up his arm.  
The darkest parts were his fingertips, they seemed to blend into the matte black of his nails. But the tone lightened, more of a dark grey hint appeared over his palm which only served to highlight the black almost tattoo-like markings around his fingers and wrist. He hadn't noticed the marks before but realised that it had something to do with the rings and chains that adorned him now almost permanently. Further down his forearm was another set of markings. Curved to trace along the shape and accentuate. More markings were gradually appearing, patterns that didn't quite match up to any known alchemical symbols. Although Leon couldn't help but notice that they appeared not too dissimilar to the markings that Henderson referenced from the mysterious book.

 

Wesker ran his fingers over the ridges of the markings, the skin raised almost in the same way as a tattoo. His touch felt electric. Pins and needles ran through him. No, those weren't the right words. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears. The expression upon Wesker's face was that of fascination. Since they'd left the castle he noticed how Wesker seemed utterly fixated upon him, in any other circumstances he'd have taken note of Excella, so aware of everything. But here he was. Fuck, he was so close. But his touch wasn't demanding, it was almost like he was being given a massage. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he resisted the urge to relax into it.

_You've been fighting and resisting for so long. Aren't you tired? Why not let yourself be selfish for once? Use him as much as he's using you. He's out of his depth and making you question who holds the strings. You aren't one of those puppets in the castle. You choose your own rhythm. You pick your own path. He is but a wandering child pretending to be wise and above all this. Can you not see the way he's doting on you? You could get him to eat from your hands if only you were to make that step_ -

 

Leon swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure when his face had begun to feel warm or when the capricious echo had become so loud. It was like something was whispering into his ear. Its breath was warm, just as enticing as the touch on his arm. He felt like it was more than just Wesker's hands on him. Like something else was urging him on. This other presence that had taken root in his head. That version of him he'd seen in his dream. Almost like him but... not quite.

Slowly he opened his eyes. Wesker was before him, still fixated but something lingered behind him. If he focused on it too much he couldn't see it, but if he looked to Wesker then he could see the figure almost as clear as day. It was like looking in a mirror. A warped mirror. It had his face but what looked like scales crept up the left side of his face. The whites of his eyes were black with piercing blue eyes. Like him, this mirror image had a flush in its cheeks, but it reached for Wesker. There was no mistaking why that feeling of being touched had stopped the minute he spotted it lingering elsewhere. The entity latched at Wesker's back, practically draped over him. His face buried in the neck of the Tyrant, unable to keep his hands to himself.   
Leon cleared his throat and tried to make an earnest attempt to pull away. It was as though he could feel under his hands what his mirror self could. His clothes were well tailored designed to not quite hide the extent of the muscular stature of the man, but enough to hint and emphasise the broadness of his shoulders. Christ, he wanted to feel it--

 

When did he get so desperate? Why did this keep happening?

 

“Pet, I didn't expect you to be so enticed by something as passive as having your arm touched.” Despite the jovial tone of Wesker's voice, there was something forced about it. Keeping himself in check as much as Leon was.  
“I think you've examined enough” He hated how breathless he sounded as his arm slipped away from the Tyrant's grip. “I don't feel right..”   
“A shame. You should rest then.” Gods he could hear the disappointment in Wesker's tone. Despite pulling his arm away he found their hands still connected. How Wesker grasped it like a nobleman trying to court a young heiress.“I wanted to commend you on your skill. I know you don't remember what happened, but I can only hope you do so you can understand how impressed I was with you.”

“Then how do you know it was my skill and not something else?”  
“Only you have such a turn of phrase.” Wesker's tongue flicked over his lips and leant closer. “Perhaps you need to stop holding back so much, I want to give you the room to blossom into your full potential.”  
The heat crept back, this time warmer and with more intent. He felt almost dizzy, unable to focus on his words, just how close he was and how easy it'd be to act on that whispering temptation.

Until he felt the spark.

 

It was like he'd been cracked over the back of his head. The tent disappeared and instead, he was faced with an impossibly long white corridor. Behind the windows were dozens of scientists milling around labs, animal handlers training Bio-Weapons. At the end of the hall were three very familiar silhouettes. One taller and broader than the other two, the other two far more slight in their figure. He strode towards them with vigour. Anything. Something to work out what was going on. These visions always helped some puzzle piece fall into his lap and he wasn't about to let this slip through his fingers. But why now? Why when he was being seduced?

He stood by the trio's side, his breaths ragged from the sprint. He knew one of them was Wesker, but he wasn't expecting to see Excella and Alex in the same room together. It was almost impossible to make out what they were saying, it was as though they were muffled by a wall. Something dividing him from them.   
But, perhaps it didn't matter what they were talking about..?

Leon followed their eye line. They were looking at something behind a thick wall of glass. A small vial had several machines emptying contents into it and being stirred. The three watched intently but nothing seemed to change. The screen in front of the panel simply read 'stable'. Wearily Wesker pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He beckoned for the ladies to follow him as he made his way to another room. They followed, but something wouldn't let Leon leave. He was stuck watching the lights in the room flicker.

Why didn't they stick around? The doors to the lab opened to let someone in a hazmat suit enter. He couldn't see their face, let alone any details on them, but he watched with a slack jaw as the person pulled out a decrepit looking box. It was rattling in their grip like something was trying to escape. A smaller Bio-weapon? As the box was opened the room was plunged into darkness. A thick familiar looking smoke billowed. The sound of metal scratching down the glass set his teeth on edge as Leon tried to recoil away. He wanted to shout, to get the attention of anyone. Was that person even supposed to be in there? The darkness quickly passed, as it seemed to be drawn into the vial the sound of the scraping quickly replaced with a loud howl of protest. Unseen claws raked into the ground, gradually pulled into the vial. Then silence.

Whoever was in the hazmat suit looked directly at him and held their finger up to where their mouth would be in a shushing motion. Leon felt bile crawl up the back of his throat. Whoever or whatever it was he knew he didn't want to be anywhere _near_ them. He winced and looked away, unable to bear the sight any longer, finally free from his frozen state.

 

The air no longer felt sterile. There was a dampness in the air. Something was against his back- he was laid down? The agent blinked the weariness from his eyes and looked around. He was back in the tent. Wait that was his bed in the corner... not that he was complaining this one felt like he was being swallowed by a marshmallow. His hearing came back to him not long after his vision cleared up. He could hear an intent tapping noise. Wesker was on his laptop. More notes.

“Rest pet.” Was the only explanation offered as he met eyes with the Tyrant. He had so much to ask but... he couldn't say what it was he'd seen. Another puzzle piece that only indicted there was so much more at work than just them. And now there were even more problems to be dealing with immediately. 

_Great_. He winced.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'And our questions don't apply  
> searching for heaven with human eyes  
> As God the observer may see
> 
> Soul just becoming me  
> Forgive the hubris I define  
> Finding dreams lost in the thought of time  
> To know what purpose is mine...
> 
> I am here.
> 
> As above  
> Thy kingdom come  
> So below  
> Look beyond the big  
> BANG!'  
> The Crüxshadows - Uncertainty (In Time & Space)
> 
> Thank you all so much for being patient with me whilst I worked on this chapter. There was so much happening that I didn't feel I could split into two chapters for the sake of the flow of the story. I can't say when the next chapter will be coming as my writing ability will come and go depending on what the day permits. But thank you all for your support and comments. 


End file.
